


Divenire

by countingpaperstars



Series: Home of the Sun [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established OT3, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Guaranteed happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, I literally rewrote the entire fucking game everyone, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Near Death Experiences, OT4, Polyamory, Polyship Roadtrip, Prince!Prompto, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Burn, Spoilers, based on pigeon princess' au!, everyone's 2/3 years older than canon, in this house we love and appreciate strong and capable prompto, like really fucking slow burn, lore and worldbuilding are tweaked, prom's a damsel-he's in distress-he can handle it, so some blood and injury but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: Their gazes snag on each other and the world stops – or rather, they stop and the world continues on, as though they’ve been caught up in a tumultuous storm only to find a brief respite in the eye of the hurricane.Bound by the promise of a union between warring nations and sent out on a tour of cities, time is running short for Prince Noctis to discover the truth behind the treaty and for Prince Prompto to follow through with the plan he’s a part of, but it's hard when their future is clouded by the memories of their shared past. As the daylight continues to slip away and new dangers threaten the world as they know it, they find themselves trapped in an ever-growing, sticky web of political design and unexpected divine intervention. One wrong move, and it could all come crashing down.Translation available inRussian.





	1. What a Match, I'm Half Doomed and You're Semi-Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS
> 
> I am not kidding when I tell you this is a monster. Initially I wrote the first draft of this fic for camp nanowrimo in July and over the last few months have slowly been rewriting and editing it. The plot completely ran away with me and now it has almost tripled in size?? and somehow along the way I pretty much rewrote the entire mcfucking game (beware: here be spoilers). And now, I am pleased to say it's finally ready to be shared with you guys!! It's not finished entirely yet, but I have enough of a headstart that we should be alright. This fic is my _baby_ and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it. Feel free to come yell at me about it on my [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)
> 
> Everything is based off pigeon-princess' au [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/tagged/niflheim_prince_au) and the scene used in this chapter is [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/162276717137/after-many-years-of-political-tension-the-emperor). I want to thank her deeply from the bottom of my heart, as well as ffxv in general, for inspiring me to write my first fanfic in _years_ and continuing to inspire me in our conversations  <3 (also we have some surprises in store for yall ;D so keep an eye out)
> 
> Also there's a [playlist!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT) I'll be adding to with each update. The title song is Divenire (meaning _'to become')_ by Ludovico Einaudi. I really recommend listening to it because I feel the composition really embodies this journey as a whole. Chapter title comes from Disloyal Order of the Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy. 
> 
> Big thank you to my betas/cheerleaders Juli, Venesa, Ducky, and Sidney. Y'all are the absolute best <3
> 
> Enjoy~

They’ve only just arrived at the base of the citadel and already Prompto feels as though he’s about to faint.

Granted, he’s felt this way for pretty much the entire journey. The tight ball in his gut had only grown with each territory they’d passed through on the train to the edge of Succarpe; had amplified with the endless rolling of the waves as they crossed the sea to Lucis’ south western coast. The unchanging background of the drop ship that had picked them up at the harbor had made it easier to pretend, if only for a little while, nothing was happening – that they were merely stuck in an endless loop of days spent in travel.

But now... now it feels as insurmountable as the building towering before them.

The sun has disappeared behind it and no matter how far Prompto looks up and up at the shining spires grasping at the sky, he can’t find it. All there is is endless blue and the shimmering glint of the magical barrier high above them. The citadel’s shadow sends a chill down his spine despite the hot temperature of the day, sweat sticking to the back of his neck and curling the ends of his hair. The grand ceremonial robes he was stuffed into are meant more for the bleak weather of Gralea’s two seasons – cold and slightly less cold. Their weight serves as a heavy reminder of why they’re here.

It had taken a while to reach the heart of the city, and although he’s heard tales of it before, Prompto is stunned by the sprawling expanse of Insomnia. The wall around its borders is certainly a testament to its size, and he marvels at the notion that one person alone can fuel the magic to support it. 

Gralea is by no means small, but in comparison to the sheer size of Insomnia’s infrastructure – all the graceful loops of highways and sprawling parks, clean grids of streets lined with houses and businesses – the contrast is as stark as night and day. And for someone who hasn’t left the Empire’s capital in years, well, it’s hard to process all at once.

All of this flashes through his mind as he waits, standing stiffly to the side as the rest of the retinue exits the sleek cars which had picked them up at the west gate. They had come with only a handful of advisors and guards, so it takes only minutes for everyone to join him at the base of the stairs where a small welcome party is waiting to receive them - a few crownsguard and a guide who directs them to follow with a brisk, efficient tone.

Prompto falls into step behind his father and tries to slow his breathing to match the pace of his steps. In and out... in and out. 

Everything is going to be okay, he tells himself. A voice inside laughs at the notion and counters back, everything is _not_ going to be okay. He shoves it as far down as he can and focuses instead on maintaining his mask of practiced indifference.

He struggles to keep it in place as they enter the main hall and are met with more grandeur. And maybe he should be used to the flashiness of the rich by now, but the soft elegance of Lucis contrasts so much with the hard, intimidating lines of Niflheim. His eyes dart around, wishing he had some way to document it and wanting to linger, but a quick glance at his father kills the thought in its tracks.

The emperor’s usual air of haughty power is still in place, but Prompto can see through the cracks of it, the tenseness around his eyes and the slightly off-balanced gait to his steps. The journey here has been hard on him. Every step closer to Insomnia seemed to sap more and more of his energy away. But this was important – too important to leave to the hands of others.

The guide directs them to an elevator inside the main hall and presses the call button. Prompto is impressed they’ve managed to keep a steady voice and hand when the sparse staff they’ve passed have regarded their group with open suspicion. He doesn’t blame them, of course. It’s not every day you see Niflheim royalty in the heart of Lucis.

When the doors open, Prompto is pressed into a corner of the elevator and he closes his eyes in an attempt to not lose his composure. Elevators have never been his friend; too cramped, too closed in. His heart rate is climbing with the floor numbers, and he feels woozy as they’re dragged higher and higher into the citadel. Right when he thinks he may make good on his earlier sentiment and actually faint, it stops and everyone is being ushered out and down a hall to stop in front of tall ornate doors.

The retinue halts here, pausing as preparations for their introductions are made, and Prompto tries desperately to tamp down the ball of anxiety in his chest while they wait. He’s already come so far and he has to get through this. So much is riding on it – on him. His father shoots him a glare that says he’s not doing a good enough job of pulling himself together. 

Gulping, he fidgets with the edges of his sleeves and does what he used to do when his training got to intense – clears his mind and tries to think of nothing. His hands still shake.

A figure sidles up beside him and he tenses as they take his arm in what would be a reassuring gesture to anyone else. In some ways it is, gives Prompto something to ground himself with, but he can also feel the warning in Ardyn’s solid grip. It does nothing for his nerves, but he relaxes into the hold anyway and is rewarded with an encouraging smile.

They both straighten up as the doors open and Prompto takes a deep breath. He can do this. He has to. He’s come too far to turn back now, if he ever had the choice.

The room is much like the rest of the citadel, all graceful sweeps of metal and ornate designs. Directly ahead at the back of the hall sits King Regis, a little grey with age but still iridescently regal in the sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. He towers over them with the same terrifying grandeur as the citadel.

Behind him stands a man who can only be the king’s shield, posture strong and immobile as they approach. Prompto feels the force of his gaze from across the hall, drilling into them with sharp eyes. There’s a second landing halfway up the stairs leading to the throne where three young men are lined up to the left and along either wall men and women are seated in the upper balconies - some sort of counsel at his guess.

With every step, Prompto quakes on the inside. He’s certain his heart must be beating loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Now that he's older, he’s more adjusted to the prying eyes his station draws, but these are colder than those of the Niflheim populace. His skin crawls beneath the heavy layers of cloth, as if they’re all picking him apart to scrutinize every last piece. He thinks back to home, to gazes more of reverence and awe, but no matter which way he’s being watched he knows it’s only a distraction. Seems that’s all he’s good for these days.

“Introducing Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt of Niflheim, Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, and his Highness Prince Prompto Aldercapt." The announcement echos loudly into the hall as they reach the base of the steps.

“I didn’t know the Niffs had a prince,” someone mutters.

It’s so soft Prompto barely catches it, but his attention snaps to the three off to the side regardless - in time to see an immaculate, bespectacled man subtly jab an elbow into the large, long haired man next to him. With a single look, Prompto knows this is the prince’s shield, another formidable child in the infamous Amicitia line. There's a scar running down the side of his face and he looks like he could easily snap Prompto in two with his bare hands. He’s not sure who the man with the spiked hair next to him is; perhaps an advisor.

Before he can stop, he peers cautiously up from under his eyelashes at the final figure and he’s startled to find the dark haired man’s wide-eyed stare already on him, blatant surprise slipping through before it’s schooled once again. Prompto knows who this is. He tells himself he imagined the spark of recognition in Prince Noctis’ eyes and he looks away, heat pooling in his cheeks.

“King Regis, it has been long since we've come face to face,” says Iedolas, breaking the silence.

“With good reason,” replies the king, eyes inscrutable as he stares down at them. “Tell me, what matter is so important as to bring the Emperor of Niflheim to the heart of enemy territory? And in the middle of a war, no less.”

“Why else?” Iedolas asks, though he expects no answer. The faintest condescending taunt colors his voice as he continues, “To offer terms of peace.”

“Peace?!”

“Now, now, dear Emperor, we must first thank our hosts for the great honor they have bestowed upon us by agreeing to meet.” Ardyn steps forward from Prompto’s side, bowing slightly as he adds, “We are _ever_ so appreciative, King Regis.”

That out of the way, he saunters about the room from advisor to advisor. “You see we in Niflheim, like you, wish nothing more than to bring an end to this, ah… _senseless_ war.”

“Is that so?” the king says, disbelief in every word, though his face has closed off once more.

“It is indeed!” Ardyn whips back around to face him, heels clicking. “Let me be transparent with you, Your Majesty. Your people are suffering and your forces are stretched thin trying to protect them all. There is only so much longer you can continue to do so. It is only a matter of time before they fall from your grasp and all that’s left standing between Insomnia and the outside world is your wall.”

The ‘and you’ is left unsaid but it rings louder than any other words he’d spoken. Ardyn’s bluntness plunges the entire room into a stilted quiet and Prompto’s heart continues to thud in his chest. He tries desperately not to fidget and draw attention to himself, watching keenly as King Regis’ hands tighten where they rest on the throne.

Ardyn shrugs dismissively. “However, after much careful deliberation we have come to a proposition. We have agreed… to leave the outer territories to your rule.”

Immediately rustling and whispers pick up in the hall, passing like wings of insects before a hand from the king quiets them. Prompto sees the three to his left shift uneasily out of the corner of his eye. He won’t look, won’t make that mistake again, and instead focuses on the way the sun glints off the metal.

“There is but a small price to pay, of course,” continues Iedolas. “One small oversight for the greater good of the kingdom.”

Ardyn is the one to finish it all off, slowly circling back to Prompto like a shark closing in on the smell of blood. “Our only request, in return for our… shall we say gesture of Imperial goodwill, is that His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis of Lucis…”

Prompto sees Noctis start at the mention of his name, but he still doesn’t look – focuses harder on staring at the sunlight as Ardyn’s hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“...must accept our _dear_ Prince Prompto’s hand in marriage.”

It's quiet enough that all Prompto can hear is the blood rushing to his ears. He’s staring dead ahead so hard his vision tunnels, the smooth curves of metal swirling in the outer edges of his sight. He’s certain he could have heard a pin drop.

The the room erupts and the hand on his shoulder feels as much a restraint as it does an anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Let me know what you think down below (even if it's two words, they'll make my week <3)


	2. In Your Heart (That's Where I'll Always Be)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Prompto before him has become a statue, still and resplendent in a garden reminiscent of those in their memories. Noctis steps forward, reaching out as if to touch his marble face – wanting desperately to connect, to understand – but Prompto flinches back violently and he withdraws his hand._
> 
> Noctis confronts Prompto about their past and plans are made regarding their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll all be pleased to know the first chapter was by far the shortest of the lot! This next one is set in Noctis' perspective and they'll continue to flip back and forth between him and Prompto. As a quick sidenote, the Eos lore in this fic has been tweaked, but I allude to it as we go, so hopefully it won't be confusing. I also want to mention that this story is set a few years later than the game, so everyone is 2/3 years older. 
> 
> ALSO PIGEON PRINCESS DREW ART FOR THIS CHAPTER WHICH YOU CAN SEE [HERE](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/168099920542/prince-prompto-is-crouched-down-on-the-grass-and) gosh I'm still crying over it, please look at how beautiful it is! When I started writing this based off her art, I never would have guessed the beautiful friendship that would bloom from it. A big thank you to her for being such awesome company as I ramble for hours about this fic and for helping me plan pieces of it! <3 And as always, big thank you to my awesome betas/cheerleaders, I wouldn't be here without you guys.
> 
> !Final Important Note!  
> There's a joke in here playing off the word Mashipo, which is Japanese slang for mashed potatoes, so keep it in mind as you read! Shoutout to Ducky for helping me be funny on cue <3
> 
> Chapter title is from There's a Place by The All-American Rejects, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

Of all the many, horrible things Noctis had expected when a messenger burst into the room with news of a Niflheim envoy en route to the citadel, this had not been on the list. In fact, it seems his brain has decided to skip the feeling of shock entirely and instead settle deep into a numbness so hollow he wonders if his heart has actually dropped out of his chest and tumbled down somewhere on the polished floor. 

The very idea of peace - of ending an ages-long war with a mere union - seems deceptively simple. He hadn’t even known the empire had a prince until his presence was announced.

Right, the prince. 

Noctis’ eyes are drawn like a magnet to the bright shock of his blonde hair shining in the center of the room as a cacophony of noise fills the air. It’s a stark difference, seeing such a fair complexion in Lucis outside of the refugee districts and the Kingsglaive recruits. Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory goes off, all bright flash and the distinct sound of a camera shutter, before he shakes it away again. Prince Prompto looks ready to pass out, his face pale and dawn, held up only by the firm grip the chancellor has on him. His gaze is focused somewhere distant, miles away before he blinks hard. 

Their gazes snag on each other and the world stops – or rather, they stop and the world continues on, as though they’ve been caught up in a tumultuous storm only to find a brief respite in the eye of the hurricane. Noctis feels that same tug in his chest and this time he’s almost sure…

As if sensing their exchange, the chancellor's eyes snap up, glinting sharply in the late daylight. The edges of his lips curve into a smirk as the arm around Prince Prompto’s shoulders slips down around his waist. All at once the moment is broken, the ragged edges of familiarity slipping back through Noctis’ fingers like water. 

The eye of the storm passes and a rush of sound crashes back down over him, throwing him violently back into the present, and it’s only now he notices how deadly still Ignis has gone beside him. The shock settles in, a deep static buzzing in his bones as he frantically tries to catch up. Protests are being thrown out from every which way, words overlapping and blending into an unintelligible wave of anger tossing back and forth fiercely in a frothy swell that threatens to drag Noctis under.

A resounding bang cuts through the noise, Noctis' father having risen from his seat to rap his cane sharply against the polished floor. He appears to be as unruffled as ever, but Noctis can tell he is troubled. There are lines at the corners of his eyes speaking of exhaustion, his hair faded to gray beneath the weight of their duty. 

Some days it’s hard to look at him, to see the physical effects that accompany the strain of magic it takes to reinforce the wall around Insomnia – hard to know one day it will take him, and the burden will be passed down to Noctis for him to wither away under in his own time. But now… now his mind races far ahead, tripping over itself as it goes. With a treaty, with peace between their countries, they’d no longer have to support the wall. His breath catches sharply in his throat.

_One small oversight for the greater good of the kingdom._

“That is enough,” his father says sternly. “Please forgive our unsettled response. As you can probably imagine, this is quite a surprise. Perhaps our guide would show you to the palace gardens while we reconvene and discuss your offer.”

“But of course,” the chancellor agrees with a deep sweeping bow. 

Tension sits heavy in the room, a dam waiting to burst as the envoy is escorted away. Already, Noctis is biting his tongue to keep from speaking too hastily – a feat Ignis would be proud of for managing to instill in him. Instead he lets his eyes linger on Prince Prompto, following their exit until he’s no longer in sight.

He slumps into the press of Ignis’ hand on his lower back, grounded by the small affectionate touch, and in the corner of his eye, Noctis can see his other hand wrapped discreetly around Gladio’s forearm – a warning and a comfort both. The knowledge of the link between them bolsters Noctis enough to straighten up.

As soon as the doors have been closed tightly behind their guests, the voices are quick to break out again. It's been a long time since the counsel has been so unruffled, composure thrown completely out the window. His father’s brows are furrowed when he raises a hand to quell the resumed outbreak of protests. Only once the counsel has settled back in their seats again does he finally address them. 

“I know the matter at hand is pressing, but I suggest we all take a well-deserved recess for lunch and reassemble in a more appropriate setting. We had best have clear minds if we are to approach this carefully.”

Everyone reluctantly murmurs their assent and filters out of the hall. Noctis makes eye contact with his father but he knows this is no time to approach him, no matter how much he may want to. This matter extends beyond that of a contained family affair, something they have never been afforded the luxury of. So many questions whirl around in his mind that he feels a tad nauseous from the force of them and he’s grateful when Ignis takes the lead, herding him along while pulling Gladio along behind them.

They manage to ascertain an elevator and as soon as the doors close Ignis lets out a deep sigh. “Well, that was certainly unexpected,” he says, removing his glasses to clean them with a soft cloth pulled from a pocket.

“'Unexpected'? That was a damn insult!” says Gladio through clenched teeth.

Out of view, Noctis slumps against the wall and shudders as the reality of the situation catches up to him. There's no nice way around it – he's being blackmailed into marriage. 

Soft wisps of blonde hair flit through his mind, followed by a lingering brush of nostalgia. He’s reaching out, grasping for the memories, but they’re eased away with the cool press of Ignis’ hand against the back of his neck, his presence a balm against the tumultuous storm now taking up residence in Noctis’ head.

“It’s going to be all right. We will figure this out, together,” Ignis says, and Noctis leans into the solid shoulder under his forehead, breathing in the comforting smell of his starched shirt. He knows Ignis only dares to reach out like this knowing they’re alone, but Noctis doesn’t mind, pushing further into his hold.

“Specs is right Noct. No need to get worked up, we won’t let the Niffs take you from us,” Gladio chimes in. His frustration is still palpable in the air but it’s a far cry from the reaction he would’ve given when they were a little younger, a little less traveled and experienced. At least over the last few years he's learned to tamp his reactions down into a controlled simmer.

“Not helping Gladio,” Ignis says dryly, glaring at him for the hypocritical statement and Noctis stifles a laugh against his shirt. It’s absurdly routine for a day that's been anything but and something relaxes in the air. 

Gladio manages to dig out a semblance of a smile. “Looks like it helped to me.”

Ignis rolls his eyes but before they can devolve into more playful banter, the elevator dings and he pulls away from Noctis with a final reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.

“I’ll see you at the meeting,” Gladio says, and stalks off in the direction of the training rooms.

Resigned, Ignis shakes his head and turns to Noctis. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay. I just need some time to think. And maybe a sandwich.”

The corner of Ignis’ mouth pulls up but it’s more of a grimace than anything else. “Don’t wander too far, I’m sure things will be set up soon enough.” 

Then he’s off, striding with purpose down the halls to prepare for the meeting - to scour reports on Niflheim for anything that could possibly be of help or perhaps to go about collecting proposals from all the council members beforehand. And not eating. Noctis shakes his head in disapproval at the thought and makes vague plans of grabbing him something for later.

Alone at last, Noctis tries his best to process the mess his day has become, but the looming pressure of such an abrupt engagement is proving tough to swallow. He’s known marriage would come around someday, but he hadn’t thought he’d be dealing with it this soon, and certainly not to someone from _Niflheim_. After all these endless years of fighting, it seems too flippant an offer.

Part of him is restlessly furious, digging its heels in at the thought of following through in any way. It has to be a trap, some sort of trick. There’s no way the Niffs would back down after all this time, actually _give_ back the Lucian territories they’d taken, and only demand a surface marriage in return. They had nothing obvious to gain from it. Perhaps they were planning to try and overpower the kingdom through him? Immediately Noctis laughed inside at the thought – he was not so easily manipulated.

But they didn’t exactly have the upper hand here, it was a more reasonable conclusion that the Empire planned to pressure them into agreements to weaken them further. Or perhaps they were looking for ways to infiltrate Lucis from the inside. Either of those certainly held more ground than a watery offer of peace.

Or maybe it was the foundation of something far worse.

Uneasy at the tangle of thoughts scrambling over each other in his head, Noctis accepts he’ll need to stay on high alert around their guests, until any and all suspicions were laid to rest. But still the other part of him beckons softly, a distant memory of green grasses and sweet smile. It had been so long ago, but maybe…

Well, there's only one way to try and find out. Determined, Noctis rolls his shoulders back and sets off down the familiar maze of hallways.

The gardens here are not as lush as the ones in his memories, but they hold the same sense of shelter from unwanted eyes. As he strides through them, it quickly becomes apparent that their honored guests have been relocated, probably for a lunch. The sting of disappointment is settles low in his gut when a flash of white catches the corner of his eye.

It’s him.

Nerves spike sharp in his chest as he changes course. If he’s right… well, he’ll deal with it when he knows for sure.

Prince Prompto is crouched down on the grass and Noctis is utterly confused as to why he’s down there until he draws nearer and spies the familiar fluffy, grey tail of a cat curling around his arm. He’s alone – well, mostly. A quick glance around confirms his suspicions when he spots a kingsglaive standing at attention against the far wall. It’s a good enough distance away to grant anyone the illusion of privacy, but still close enough to keep an eye on things.

Stopping a few feet away, Noctis tries to collect his courage. It feels like an intrusion on a private moment he was not invited to, but still he has questions and this may be his only chance to ask them, so he sets his face and says, “His name’s Mashipo.” 

He regrets it when the prince jumps and snatches his hands back as if burned, but Noctis continues, “Or at least, that’s what we’ve all taken to calling him. He sorta slips into the citadel whenever he wants.”

The cat remains unperturbed by the halt of affection, giving a lazy stretch before sauntering over to Noctis and curling around his leg. At the insistent meowing, Noctis digs around in his pockets to feed Mashipo one of the treats he’s taken to keeping on him, despite Ignis always giving him grief about the crumbs forever embedded in the fabric.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t - I mean I,” Prince Prompto stutters before settling on a simple final, “sorry.” 

He straightens up and hurriedly brushes at the grey hairs from his white robes, the heavy fabric bulky and cumbersome on his lean frame. When the task is done, the poor boy cannot seem to stop fidgeting, his hands flitting instead to twist together or tug on his sleeves and in the bright sunlight his golden hair glows where it falls in soft layers to frame his face and the sprawl of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

The longer they stand there the more Prince Prompto's determined to look everywhere but at him. Noctis frowns. The bout of nerves displayed both here and back in the throne room don’t exactly match up to his limited experience with Niflheim personnel. He would have figured their prince to be much more confident, if not dreadfully conceited.

“It’s all right, he was certainly enjoying your company before I interrupted,” Noctis says, taking in how the other relaxes slightly at the reassurance. He steps closer. “Prince Prompto, is it?” he asks, although he already knows the answer. “Quite the unique name." 

It's a causal remark, but ripples on the surface of something deeper and it gets his attention, Prompto’s eyes widening as he jerks his head up, face going pale at the implication. It draws the air taut with the words unsaid between them and with his suspicions confirmed, Noctis changes the subject. “You didn’t want to eat with the others?”

Immediately latching onto the out, Prompto gives a stilted chuckle and shakes his head. “I - I’m not very hungry.”

“Well, if you change your mind, there's a full serving of potatoes right here,” says Noctis, crouching down to scratch under Mashipo’s chin.

Prompto startles into laughter and the bright noise finds a home wedged in between Noctis’ ribs. The difference is as stark as night and day – the wild edge to his laugh reflecting in his shining eyes and blinding grin. They’re still staring at each other, caught up again in their personal hurricane, but now they’re smiling and the air is lighter as it echoes with their shared amusement.

Mashipo’s purring fills the empty space and Prompto’s smile slips as he averts his eyes to the ground.

“We’ve met before.”

Noctis is not asking. He hears the sharp intake of breath, loathes the way Prompto’s shoulders tighten up again, but he has to know for sure. He tries again. “In Tenebrae. You were Lunafreya’s friend. I saw you everyday for weeks. We were – we were friends.”

Although he is older and leaner now, Noctis knows it’s him.

Most of that time in his life feels as though it’s a distant nightmare, having been sent to a foreign land to heal from wounds a child should never know, but meeting Lunafreya and Prompto had made it worth it and together they were the only bright spots in the dark tunnel of those years. His mind flips through vivid recollections of exploring the gardens around the palace, Luna pushing Noctis along in his wheelchair as Prompto darted this way and that, snapping pictures with a camera borrowed from the Fleurets. Noctis still remembers his carefree laugh, the freckles blooming across his nose and shoulders from the summer sun, the teasing lilt in his voice as he urged them to catch up.

The Prompto before him has become a statue, still and resplendent in a garden reminiscent of those in their memories. Noctis steps forward, reaching out as if to touch his marble face – wanting desperately to connect, to understand – but Prompto flinches back violently and he withdraws his hand. 

“But then you didn’t show up anymore,” he continues softly, and he can’t help the hurt creeping into his voice at the edges. When Prompto looks up the mask is broken, his brows pinched together, eyes watery.

He had vanished without a trace, without a single goodbye. Luna said he had been living there for some years, one of the many refugees displaced by a relentlessly growing empire. If she hadn't mentioned it, Noctis would have never known - Prompto hadn’t ever brought it up and they hadn’t asked. 

Days passed - then weeks, months - but he was gone. There’s a distinct difference in losing something you’d once had, in knowing exactly what's missing, compared to something you’d never known. With his mother, the hole had always been there, but this... this was when Noctis first knew of heartbreak.

“Noctis, I…”

“Your Highness.” Both of them jump and whirl around. 

“Highness-es,” Ignis corrects, eyes sliding from Noctis to Prompto and back. The line of worry is back on his forehead. “Apologies for interrupting, but the meeting is about to begin.”

“Right." Noctis quickly composes himself and Prompto's eyes have shuttered, their moment together passed and buried as they draw back into practiced masks of quiet indifference. “I’ll see you later.”

Prompto still won’t look at him but he does nod, so Noctis takes what he can and steps away to follow Ignis down the hall.

“Noctis, I feel the need to advise you against being alone with any of our guests, but I feel it would be redundant in light of the fact that you probably won’t listen to me." His tone is wry and he procures a wrapped sandwich half from some pocket or other and passes it over.

“If you already know, why mention it at all?” Noctis teases with a wide grin as he peels off the plastic wrap to take a bite. He knows it’s not one of Iggy’s right away - too much bread, not enough meat, and _ugh_ was that a _tomato?_ Noctis wrinkled his nose and pulled the offending food out, tossing it as they pass a trash can.

When Ignis doesn’t even tsk in reprimand, Noctis sobers. “Relax Specs, we weren’t alone. There was a glaive there, and besides, I already have three royal arms. If he had tried to pull anything I could’ve handled it easily.”

“Let us pray we are never lucky enough to find out,” Ignis says. “Please do heed caution regardless. This whole affair… it seems a little too convenient to be without trepidation.”

“I know,” murmurs Noctis. “There’s definitely something going on, but I’m planning to figure out what it is. Specs… I met Prompto back in Tenebrae.”

Immediately connecting the meaning, Ignis stops short. Surprise is a hard emotion to detect with him but Noctis catches the slight uptick of his brow. “Are you absolutely certain?” he presses quietly, a hard edge to his tone that demands Noctis put all his cards on the table.

“Yes,” he says firmly. It’s definitely him, no matter how different he appears and acts. Noctis only hopes the same bright-eyed kid he once knew is still in there under the layers of Niflheim propriety.

Ignis hums thoughtfully, pressing a hand to his mouth. “Well this got that much more complicated, didn’t it. Come now, we don’t want to be late. We can discuss it fully later. I would advise you keep this between us until we can decide how to approach it.” 

Noctis hates that he’s the one who deepened the worried crinkle on Ignis’ forehead, knows it will be a long while yet before it will disappear. There's also the fact of telling Gladio, but he balks at the thought and forces himself to finish eating as he’s ushered quickly down the hall.

When they reach the discussion room, many of the council members are already locked in a heated debate over the terms of the proposed treaty. Light spills from the high windows and illuminates where his father is sitting at the head of the long oak table, tensed as he listens. He looks up from his steepled hands when Noctis and Ignis enter the room to offer them a small, tired smile. Beside him sits Clarus, strong and imposing as ever in his duty as shield and strategist.

They hurry to take their respective seats on either side of Gladio, who looks as if he’s gone a full round against a Garula. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he says, but there's a tail end of a smirk with it. Noctis pinches his leg playfully and tunes into the debate.

“We can’t hand the prince over to them like some sort of loss cut in a game of chess!” a woman in blue raves in frustration. Noctis thinks she oversees something to do with finance but he isn’t entirely sure. Hopefully Ignis will refresh his memory later. “We have no idea what sort of plot they have up their sleeves! Our spies have reported nothing of this treaty at all and if it were to work out, what of the resistance? We cannot simply turn our back on them!”

A man drops his fist onto the table and rebukes, “This could be our only chance to end this godforsaken war. We may have been enjoying a relative peace here in Insomnia these some odd decades, but it is in name only. What of the attack on Galahd those years ago? And the reports of skirmishes in the south western territories! It’s only a matter of time before the Empire pushes onward, fells Lestallum, and takes the capital from our hands. If it is a trap, as long as they follow through the terms of the treaty and give us our lands back, it may put us in a position to hold on to them and defend against anything else in the future!”

Again the conversation dissolves into bickering, terse arguments spilling over each other and achieving nothing. His father unfolds his hands, clearing his throat as he addresses Noctis. “You’re looking awfully pensive. What do you think of all this? It is your hand they are asking for, after all.” 

The room drops into a strained silence as all eyes turn to him and Noctis freezes. He feels Gladio press his knee against his reassuringly and swallows his nerves best he can, debating his answer.

“I know him," is what slips out, unbidden, followed close by a weary sigh from Ignis. It’s a quiet enough statement, but it draws all the air out of the room, the tension drawing so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap.

“I’m sorry… you, _what?_ ” an older gentleman asks, incredulous. “What do you mean you ‘know him’?”

“I’ve met Prince Prompto before, back in Tenebrae.” Noctis makes eye contact with his dad at this. His father doesn’t show any surprise, and he wonders if he’s recalling the same young boy. He doesn’t look at Gladio, can feel him freeze across the arms of their chairs. “I didn’t know who he was back then, but I’m sure it’s him.”

A flash of intertwining pinkies flits through his mind, a sweet laugh accompanying the bright sunshine light trailing along with them as Luna pushes his wheelchair over the grass.

_“We’re friends now?”_

_“Of course! Always will be.”_

_“Swear it?”_

_“I swear.”_

Noctis blinks away the memory and shakes his head. “I don’t know what the Empire has planned. More than likely there is a hidden side to this offer of peace we are unaware of.”

He pauses to thinks deeply of the possible consequences of his options but deep down he's already decided. If there were no war, there’d be no need for the wall – no need for his father’s sacrifice pulling on him like the grains of sand falling through an hourglass, no need for the people in the outlying territories to know peace only in name, no need for the endless sacrificing and cutting of losses. Perhaps Galahd could rebuild, he thinks.

“Whatever it may be, if there’s the slightest chance of ending this war, a chance to build towards the future we all hope for, I’m willing to do my part to make it happen.”

There’s a stunned silence. This is the most he’s ever contributed to a meeting at one time and many of the members seem impressed with his answer. His father’s eyes twinkle proudly and the approval settles warm in his chest. “Very well, if we are to go through with this treaty, we must make the proper preparations, take into account every caution and make it airtight."

An older woman speaks, one with wise eyes Noctis recognizes. “Your Majesty, the people will not like this. Insomnia has never taken kindly to outsiders and many will protest the union on those grounds alone.”

“If I may, Your Majesty?” says Ignis and Regis gestures for him to continue. “I have been pondering this same problem over the recess and I believe I may have a solution. If we are to accept their offer, this would be a good opportunity to take the betrothed on a tour, one covering the major cities of Lucis and overseas. Not only would it grant both populaces time to interact with the princes and warm up to the idea, but it would give us all a chance to sniff out anything unusual Niflheim may be getting up to before the actual marriage takes place.”

As the counsel titters quietly, Noctis shoots a questioning glance over to Ignis. A tour is not a small thing to suggest, but the more he thinks about it, the more he sees its usefulness. Gladio is staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched and Noctis wilts a little in his seat. He had hoped maybe they had moved past this, but of course that was when Lunafreya had been the favored choice for political union.

Sensing the hesitation in the room Ignis quickly tacks on, “It would also be a handy cover to search for more royal arms previously inaccessible to us, if the timeline allows. Not only will Noctis be well defended but also closer to fulfilling his duties to his line.”

“And speaking of duties to his line,” says the woman in blue from before, “what of an heir?”

There’s a heavy pause and Noctis sinks further into his seat. 

“It’s no secret a few rulers in the past have been joined together in similar situations,” Clarus speaks up. “When the time comes, proper arrangements will be made. Niflheim must have considered this already and we should bring it up in discussion with them to negotiate an ensured continuation of the Lucis lineage.”

It was more common among the higher class families of Lucis than the actual royal line, but Noctis remembers reading the stories of his ancestors in which they too had faced this problem. For one, there was Queen Latalya, who had joined with the only daughter of a neighboring kingdom which is now East Insomnia today. They had found a respectable donor to continue the line of Lucis when they’d needed. He also remembers the occasional stories of kings joined together to strengthen their countries. The thought of it all is enough to make Noctis feel like a teenager again, blushing furiously at the talk of bloodlines and heirs.

Regis nods his head, brows furrowed in thought. “We will be sure to bring it up during negotiations. I suppose a vote is in order to make everyone’s stances clear so I may make the best decision. Those in favor of the marriage and the tour raise their hands.”

Noctis, Ignis, and after a long beat, a reluctant Gladio, raise their hands along with several members.

“Those against?”

There’s another count and the answer is clear. Many of the advisors wear disappointed frowns, including the woman in blue. Noctis can’t decide if he feels relieved or worried at the outcome.

“I find my mind lies with that of the majority. We shall make the announcement once the details have been organized and terms negotiated. Ignis, if you have any more thoughts on how to arrange the proceedings, by all means,” says Regis, gesturing forward at the table.

To most it would seem the composed expression on Ignis’ face hasn’t changed, but there's a pleased glint in his eyes. “I’d be delighted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate everyone who has kudo'd, subscribed, and bookmarked this fic - you guys are the best. And to those who commented on the last chapter, I can't thank you enough <3 I reread them all the time and they still make me all melty inside. Feel free to let me know what you thought of this chapter down below!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	3. Is It Enough To Keep On Hoping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The distance between his seat and Noctis’ feels like a trench, the treaty between them the tentative thread connecting their two sides together. Prompto is terrified of it snapping, of plunging into the uncertain darkness below._
> 
> Prompto tries to stay afloat through negotiations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boyyyy this one's a long one. Originally it was one of the shortest chapters but now, it's one of the longest! Thank you to pigeon-princess for her headcanons and for helping me hash out my own ideas!! You can find her art which inspired this fic over [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/tagged/niflheim_prince_au)! I'm forever thankful writing this led to such a beautiful friendship <3 and as always, a big thank you to Juli, Ducky, Venesa, and Sidney for a+ encouragement throughout the entire process of this fic. Also Doomherald's art [here](https://doomherald.tumblr.com/post/167359803343/what-are-you-so-afraid-of-fanart-of-prince) inspired a scene in this chapter as well! Look at how gorgeous it is!!
> 
> Chapter title is from Told You So by Paramore, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Good luck to everyone this week with the arrival of Ep Iggy - r.i.p. us all.  
> Enjoy~

The glaive assigned to tail Prompto is from Galahd, that much is clear from the customary braids twisting through his hair.

There are books, back in Niflheim, full of beautiful pictures Prompto used to flip through depicting the Northern Island countries; pages and pages of brightly colored birds and rushing waterfalls, lush forests and picturesque sandy beaches. They’re nothing but a documentation of lost memories now, those of a people displaced by war. He thinks of the pictures and wonders how much of it is gone, razed to the ground by Niflheim’s greed.

The reputation of the Kingsglaive far surpasses rumor of the frontlines and everyone's head tale of the fierce warriors comprised mostly from nations felled in the path of war. All the way to the depths of the Empire there is fear at their name, rumors of how they bear the gift of the crystal’s magic and use it to hone and sharpen their fighting for their battles against Niflheim - against him.

So it makes sense that this glaive’s gaze burns him, weighs him down like a pile of bricks. He wonders why they would assign someone with the most motivation to hold a grudge against his country to watch over him, but perhaps it's the very reason.

It’s confusing, the way this particular glaive watches him – not with the sharp, accusing glare like the rest of them, but no less intent. Their eyes catch now and again, and Prompto notices the curiosity in that gaze which only deepens with the arrival and departure of the Lucian prince. The man’s made no move to pull from his place against the pillar along the outskirts of the gardens, but he does press a hand to his ear and mutter an exchange over a communication line.

And Noctis… is another concern entirely.

He remembers him - remembers the Prompto from so long ago after all these years, all the hardships which have befallen them both. The fervor with which Noctis had recalled their time together in Tenebrae had swept the air from his lungs. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He wasn’t supposed to get attached again.

So Prompto does what he does best and tamps the memories down, refuses to think of them and hides them deep in his mind; a collection of brilliant shards to only take out and view in the darkest of hours. Instead, he sits still and tries to ignore the stare of the glaive whose home was destroyed by his country and reminds himself there was nothing he could have done to stop it, even if he’d had been around to try.

Mashipo lies sprawled in his lap, purring lazily and enjoying the run of Prompto’s fingers through his fur. It helps to get lost in the repetitive action. He knows he’ll get a reprimand about the cat hair stuck to his robes later, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. It’s the least of his problems, after all.

There’s a soft breeze of fresh air blowing through the greenery and Prompto tilts his face up to the sun. It’s been so long since he's seen so much green. He’d been beginning to wonder if he’d made the color up – if the gardens in his memories were exaggerated by his desperation to escape back into them. But no, here it is, as vibrant and beautiful as he remembers. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the color.

Footsteps rustle through the soft grass, but Mashipo doesn’t bat an eye at the figure looming over them.

It’s the glaive.

A finger of fear curls down Prompto’s spine. If he’s left his post to approach him, it must be bad. He’s still frozen when the man crouches down to his eye level and he’s absolutely sure he’s going to die.

“Here,” the glaive says, holding out a wrapped sandwich. Prompto stares at it, lungs screaming from lack of air, but he doesn’t dare breathe. “I had someone bring this down for you.” A responding gurgle comes from Prompto’s stomach and he flushes. When he makes no move to reach out, the glaive pushes it more towards him.

“Thank you," Prompto says quietly, hoping if he takes it he’ll be left alone. The glaive reaches out and Prompto stills once again, but he only scratches under Mashipo’s chin, stands, and returns to his post.

As he unwraps the plastic from around the sandwich, Prompto realizes how hungry he is. It’s fancy - warm, pressed bread and colorful layers of fresh vegetables, meat, and cheese. The smell of it alone is enough to get his mouth watering, but the offering sits heavy in his hand. He doesn’t know where this came from, doesn’t know if there are strings attached or what’s in it, so he sits and pets the cat and ignores the hunger rolling around his stomach as the sandwich goes cold.

The shadows have shifted across the grass when loud purposeful footsteps echo down the hall. Prompto startles upright, scrambling to stand up while stuffing the sandwich in his pocket as Mashipo grumbles at the disturbance and slinks off between the trees.

“There you are,” sneers Iedolas and Prompto hunches. It sounds like a reprimand, even though he’s done his best to remain out of trouble. His father shoots a wary glance over at the glaive before angling his body closer, voice low. “The Lucians have proposed an agreement; they will accept our offer on the condition you both take a tour of cities before the wedding.”

Prompto's heart drops. A tour will take _weeks._

His stomach flips nervously at the thought. That's weeks alone with Noctis and his retinue, living in each others’ back pockets while Prompto tries to figure out how the hell he’s going to do what he’s supposed to _without_ the help he’d been expecting. The plan’s going to be delayed now and he’ll have to make sure not to let it slip.

“Don’t mess this up for us,” Iedolas says and Prompto wilts under the hard edge in his eyes. “Good, let’s go.” He strides off down the hall, cloak fluttering behind him and leaving Prompto to scramble to take his place a step behind. The glaive follows them like a shadow.

It takes a few days to work out the treaty and Prompto's swept up in a flurry of debates and paperwork which seem to simultaneously take forever and no time at all. He lives in suspense, both dreading and wishing for it all to be over. 

Once the plans for the tour are drafted and proposed, their envoy is brought back in to discuss negotiations. The distance between his seat and Noctis’ feels like a trench, the treaty between them the tentative thread connecting their two sides together. Prompto is terrified of it snapping, of plunging into the uncertain darkness below.

During the meetings he tries to stay afloat, but most of it goes over his head. He was never trained for this – for the delicate politics of running a country – so he does what he’s expected to do, sits and listens to his own fate being laid out before him without protest while Noctis speaks his mind and King Regis take his suggestions into account. Prompto wonders if it’s a normal occurrence. There’s an envious sting in his chest at the thought, but he feels horrible for thinking ill of either of them. It’s not their fault all he’s good for is decoration. He works on softening his gaze into something resembling detached interest, but occasionally his gaze will catch on Noctis’, cheeks flushing bright red as he has to start all over.

When the counsel grows weary of talking in circles, they break for the evening, the meeting room filling with the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor and papers shuffling together. From the corner of his eye, Prompto sees Noctis stand quickly to slip through the crowd around the table.

Beside him, Ardyn stands and shakes out his coat with a sigh, glancing down with a raised brow until Prompto reluctantly follows suit. He’s torn between lingering to hear what Noctis wants to say and disappearing before he gets the chance, but the urging of Ardyn’s hand to his back decides for him. 

They pass a few advisors still locked in debates over the negotiations Noctis gets trapped in conversation. Their eyes lock over the counsel woman’s shoulder and Prompto hesitates, but before he can change his mind, Ardyn guides him through the door and down the hall. He hates he’s relieved, but he wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

Ardyn draws him closer reassuringly, mistaking the reason for his tense posture. “Not to worry my dear, this will all be over before you know it.”

He wishes the sentiment were true.

There’s not a lot for Prompto to do during the little downtime he has. Occasionally, if the glaive tasked with watching him is the same one from that first time, he goes back to the gardens. Those are the better days, when he can sit under the shade of the trees and try not to think. It’s comforting to be surrounded by life and fresh air.

But it’s not him today – it’s the woman with the drawn back hair and keen eyes. He doesn’t think she would stop him from leaving his room but he doesn’t want to risk it. So instead he paces, walking back and forth in the rooms they’ve given him as his jittery fingers trail along the spines of the tomes in a shelf before circling back to the window.

The floor he’s on is high up, giving him an extended view over the city sprawling on for ages in every direction. He drops to the window seat and crosses his arms on the sill, propping his chin up on them and wishing he could go out and visit the streets below. It’s so different from Gralea – the sky a deep blue, temperature mild, buildings starkly clean and glittering - and it’s clear everyone is outside to enjoy the lovely weather. As the breeze billows the gauzy curtains, Prompto pretends he’s here under simpler circumstances where the only thing he has to worry about is what flowers to use at the wedding reception.

It’s hard to sleep. No matter how tired he gets from the endless meetings and politics, his mind has trouble slipping away at night. He lies awake and stares up at the ceiling, listening to the shifting of the glaive on duty behind his door in the other room. Sometimes, he manages to fall into a restless sleep. Sometimes, he dreams.

He dreams of a ring - dreams of shattering blue light and the fire of a falling star. He dreams of the tail end of a smirk, of midnight hair and a flashing smile. He dreams of Tenebrae, of watching the sunlight disappear into darkness and of looming figures, as tall as the skies. He dreams of home, of the clinical hallways and of his people, watching him, always watching. He dreams of black, viscous liquids and stark lines and cold metal. He dreams of the crystal, a giant geode suspended in a large hall, dreams of walking towards it, of reaching out, of falling and falling and-

A strangled gasp tears from his throat as he bolts up in bed. It’s darker now; he must have drifted off at some point. Heart pounding, he swipes at his hairline and forces his lungs to gasp in a deeper breath. He reaches for the frayed ends of his dream, but it’s gone except in feeling. 

Frustration burns inside his chest. Everything he wants to remember is always lingering just out of reach. The room is too warm and the sheets are different and although he’s never been one to fuss, he suddenly misses Gralea - misses the familiarity so intensely he aches with the force of it.

He jumps when someone knocks softly on the bedroom door. He must have been making noise, or maybe shouting, he thinks in embarrassment, and when he doesn’t answer, it cracks open slowly and his guard sticks their head in. It’s the glaive from the gardens again, impressively wide awake despite the early hour.

They stare at each other, the room filling with the rough edges of Prompto’s uneven breathing and his fingers curl in the unfamiliar sheets as his heartbeat settles. He’s the first to look away, shame pooling tight in his gut, and lies down again to curl up on his side with his back to the glaive. It’s stupid, backing down so easily, but Prompto’s too tired to care and the door clicks shut quietly as he’s left alone with his thoughts once again. There’s pressure behind his eyes but he ignores it, shutting them tightly and trying to grab another hour or two of rest.

He can’t shake the dreams.

They follow him around all day, nipping at his heels as he heads into the next round of meetings and sitting heavy on his shoulders at the table. Noctis sends him a few worried glances now and again but he ignores them. He needs to stay focused. When everything's said and done, he makes sure to disappear before Noctis can catch up.

Without thinking, he ends up in the gardens again tucked among the trees, and as he closes his eyes he wonders how much trouble he’ll be in if he falls asleep here. The rough bark catches at his back and he digs his hands in the dirt at the base of the roots to ground himself. Nearby there’s a soft noise as the grass crunches underfoot - the glaive again.

Prompto sighs. "Don’t you get tired of watching me all day long?”

When there’s no answer, he opens an eye to peek over where the glaive is shifting uncomfortably at his post. “Are you all right, Your Highness?”

Prompto laughs thickly and the sound comes out wonky and wrong. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You seem stressed.” The statement feels weak, too small of a phrase to describe the walls slowly closing in around him, so Prompto shrugs, his robes rubbing against the tree as he curls his hands harder in the ground. “Come on.”

He eyes the hand extended to him warily, unable to tell anything from the glaive’s blank expression, before he takes it. The strong grip easily pulls him to his feet and he forgets to be embarrassed about the dirt until they let go, murmuring an apology as he brushes his hands off and adjust his clothes.

“How old are you anyway?” the glaive asks as he leads the way.

Unsure of why it matters, Prompto hesitates. “Twenty-two.”

“Too damn young,” the glaive mutters, so softly he almost misses it, but before he can think he's steered down an unfamiliar hallway. “Come on, this way.”

All the halls in the citadel look terrifyingly the same and Prompto wonders how this man knows where he’s going. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten lost here and wound up somewhere forbidden and immediately executed and his mind kicks into overdrive and he wonders if that’s exactly what’s going to happen - if by bringing him to a spot he’s not supposed to be, this glaive could kill him under claim of sinister intentions. It’s not a completely ridiculous worry, but he forces himself to appear relaxed, keeping on high alert as he’s led into a room.

It appears to be some sort of training hall, a wooden walkway edging around the mats a step below it in the center of the room and bare, save for some cabinets and a rack of weapons lining the far wall that the glaive digs around in. “I’m Nyx by the way."

“Right,” says Prompto, dazed. He hasn’t left the entrance, weight balanced on his toes in case he needs a quick escape. “Erm… I’m Prompto.”

“I know.” Nyx shoots an amused glance over his shoulder before turning back to the rummaging. 

When he makes his way back over to him, he’s holding a bundle of cloth and Prompto stares when he holds it out, jerking his head towards another door off to the side. “You can change in there, can’t imagine you get much done in those blankets you call clothes.”

Prompto hurries through the door to change - it’s only a simple set of training pants and a tank top, but the light fabric feels freeing. He fiddles with the smooth silver bangle adorning his wrist to make sure it’s secure and heads back into the room.

“So, kid, got any specialties?” Nyx asks, browsing through the training weapons. He gives Prompto another once over. “You're a bit of a beanpole, now that you’re out of those bulky clothes.”

Prompto shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Uhm… I’m better at firearms than anything close ranged,” he offers, and double checks the bangle on his arm nervously. 

Nyx continues to dig through the weapons, finding what he wants and tossing a blunted practice sword in Prompto's direction. A small sound of surprise escapes him as his training kicks in – managing to sidestep while simultaneously grabbing the handle out of the air before it can clatter to the floor.

"Then practicing your sword work will be a better distraction," he says and Prompto wonders if that smirk ever leaves the corner of his mouth.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

There's no justifiable reason for it. He’s seen the protesters and their signs outside the citadel, and that had been only with their initial arrival – he can scarcely imagine what backlash will accompany the announcement of the royal engagement. Prompto stares Nyx down - by all means this man should hate him for what his country did to Galahd, for his home now gone, but here he is, trying to feed him sandwiches, checking in after his nightmares, and distracting him to take his mind off things.

“How about this,” Nyx says, sauntering to the middle of the room. “You land a hit on me and I’ll tell you.” He’s widens his stance, sword lifting into position and the smirk back as if it had never left.

Prompto hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was no good at anything close ranged. Back when he had been going through training in the Keep, it had been painfully obvious it wasn’t his forte and despite the intense drills and endless matches with the others he hadn’t improved, much to the warden’s displeasure. Thankfully his later instructors had chosen to focus on his strengths. 

The sword feels bulky and awkward in his grip, but he wants answers - and maybe to forget his problems for a little while if he can - so he follows suit and steps into the familiar stance. If Nyx’s arched eyebrow and slight nod of approval are anything to judge by, the endless drilling hadn’t been to no end. They run through a few cursory swings, testing out each other’s range and tactics, circling slowly in a dance as sweat beads at Prompto’s hairline.

Then they’re attacking, engaged together in a swirling storm of lunges and parries flowing from one end of the room to the next. He’s struggling to recall all of the stances, but they’re moving so fast that they tumble out of him purely on old muscle memory. He’s rusty, but as they go he loosens up and watches for openings.

Nyx can warp.

Prompto learns this soon enough and although he’s been told about the incredible abilities given those granted access to the power of Lucis’ crystal, it’s entirely different to witness it with his own eyes. The first time Nyx fizzes out of sight with a crackle only to reappear over Prompto’s shoulder, he earns a sharp rap on the ribs when he can’t reorient fast enough. They pause, labored breathing filling the room as Prompto recovers from the bright blue magic seared behind his eyes before they’re off again, the sounds of their swords colliding echo off the walls.

To be fair, Nyx reserves his warping only for when Prompto manages to get him cornered, few and far between as they are. It seems to take a lot out of him too, his breath coming harder after the landing.

They keep it up for what feels like hours, until anything to do with the empire is far from mind. He’s gotten into it, feeling empowered as he steps with confidence and the shift of their swings evens out into a balance between offense and defense. Internally Prompto laughs at the thought of his instructors seeing him now, making progress with something other than a gun for once - and to think, all it had taken was ending a long war with the promise of a marriage.

Nyx stops short and finally, _finally_ , Prompto manages to smack him on his upper thigh with a perfectly placed swing. There’s a tense pause where he looks back at him in astonishment and all the blood drains from Prompto’s face as he registers what he’s done.

He drops his sword in surprise, struggling to stammer out apologies and shying away. If he’d been so sure he was going to die earlier, than he’s absolutely certain now. The treaty is going to end before it begins, right here in this room, and he wonders if Nyx will do him the favor of finishing him off before Iedolas does. But instead of wringing his neck like he’d thought he would, Nyx only give him a paper-thin smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re fine.”

The sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat brings their attention back to the intruder. It’s Noctis’ shield, large and intimidating as ever, arms crossed in the doorway. He’s frowning at them, but it’s not angry. He looks confused more than anything.

Although he’s sure it couldn’t matter less to anyone here, Prompto feels embarrassed at the lack of propriety he’s displaying in his sweaty borrowed clothes and mussed hair. He shifts his feet, eyes darting between the two men who seem to be having an entire conversation without saying anything out loud.

“Ulric,” the shield says, his voice tight. Prompto’s confused before he realizes it's Nyx’s surname. “Can I speak to you? Alone.”

It’s not a request. 

The shield shoots a calculating glance at Prompto and steps back out into the hallway. There’s another apology resting on Prompto’s lips, but he’s cut off by a curt shake of Nyx's head as he's given another long, considering look.

“You did land a hit on me, even if it wasn’t the fairest of shots,” he says with a laugh and Prompto ducks his head. “I guess… you remind me of me, in a way. Insomnia is not always kind to outsiders, even those from their own country beyond the wall. I can recognize when someone has been trapped in circumstances not set in motion by their own doing.”

Fear curdles in the pit of Prompto’s stomach. There’s no way he could know – Prompto’s done nothing to give himself away, he’s sure of it – but the crushing weight is back again and it has nothing to do with the solid hand dropped onto his shoulder. He unconsciously leans into the warm contact anyway.

Nyx gives him a reassuring squeeze. “But you’ll be okay. We tend to find the ones we belong with, no matter the burdens others have put upon us. Keep your head up,” he says, already on his way out the door. “Feel free to have a shower. Can’t have a prince so disheveled, now can we?” 

He laughs over his shoulder and then he’s gone, the room emptier without his presence in it and Prompto wonders what exactly Nyx meant.

_The ones we belong with._

He shakes his head and stashes their dropped swords back where they belong before ducking into the dressing room, eager to return to the gardens and pretend none of this ever happened. If he spends a little longer in the shower trying to wash his problems down the drain as Nyx’s words bounce around his head, well, no one is there to yell at him for taking long.

When he steps out into the hallway, Nyx is nowhere to be found, but someone else is lounging against the wall opposite. “I trust you had a… _pleasant_ time,” Ardyn says, giving Prompto a slow once over before reaching out to adjust the collar of his robes.

There’s nothing there to fix. Prompto knows this because he’d taken extra time in the dressing room buckling everything and brushing off as much of the cat hair as possible. His hair is still damp, the ends curling ever so slightly in the warm air. Fingertips brush against his neck as Ardyn fusses and Prompto fights between the urge to lean into it and shy away. His mind flashes back to the gardens where Noctis had reached out to him and he wishes he hadn’t backed away; wishes he’d taken the small moment of intimacy and stashed it away.

He doesn’t bother to answer, knows Ardyn isn’t expecting one.

“Things are progressing well enough. The tour does put a damper on things, but no matter, it may prove to work in our favor.” With a final tug to Prompto’s robes, he leads the way down the halls with surprising familiarity. “Come along, pet. There is work to be done.”

Work is right. It takes a few days to work out the treaty and Prompto finds himself swamped in debates and paperwork that simultaneously take forever and no time at all. After much deliberation and tweaking – and breaks for the night where Prompto leaves with a headache and fancy terms floating around his head, only to get up and do it all again the next day – the two parties manage to come to an agreement. 

The document is drawn up with the established terms by Noctis’ advisor, the lean one with the glasses and spiked hair who had found them in the gardens. He outlines the tentative trade agreements to be put into place, followed by plans for Niflheim to abandon their bases in Lucis. The details of the tour have all been discussed and ironed out, though Iedolas certainly made sure to make his reluctance well heard.

Noctis catches up to him that day, halfway down the hall before Prompto can hear the intent footsteps behind him. He ducks through the milling crowd and into a side hallway in hopes of bypassing him entirely, but the similar architectural maze of the citadel pulls him up short.

“Hey wait!” Noctis calls out behind him and Prompto reluctantly faces him as he rounds the corner. 

It’s quiet, save for the commotion as the advisors pass them by, and they come face to face for the first time since the gardens. Noctis’ brows are furrowed together and Prompto fights not to fidget. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

Prompto’s eyes slide down to the side, focusing on the inlaid design of the intricate floor. “I’m not,” he says, but it sounds weak even to him.

“You are.” Noctis scoffs and takes a step closer. Something shifts in his expression and his political mask slips, a twinge of hurt flashing across his eyes. “Prompto we have to talk.”

He’s right, Prompto knows he is. They have to address this - both their history and their future - but it means dredging up things he’s not ready to face yet. He can’t avoid them forever, but he’s still harboring a small flicker of hope that maybe if he puts it off long enough it will all resolve itself. Maybe he can give Noctis enough to be satisfied for now, and goes to do so, eyes darting up and mouth opening, but he spots Ardyn over Noctis’ shoulder, leaning against the wall across from the hallway they’d ducked into, and he clamps his teeth shut with a click and shakes his head.

He takes a step back again, putting an arm up in-between them as a buffer, but Noctis’ hand shoots out and grabs him, using it to pull him close. “What are you so afraid of?” he hisses. “You'll have to talk to me eventually.”

Again, Prompto’s gaze slides from his piercing eyes to Ardyn and back. “Not now,” he says and tugs at his arm. “Later.” It’s a half-hearted promise. Part of him hopes later never comes.

“Fine.” Noctis relents and lets him go. His expression returns to a blank slate and the stoic indifference curdles something deep inside Prompto, but it seems to be enough of an answer for now, as Noctis only stares before following the stragglers down the hall.

There’s a smirk on Ardyn’s face, head tilted as he watches Noctis leave in amusement. Nodding his head in the direction of the elevator, he pulls from the wall to escort Prompto back to his rooms. He says nothing of the encounter, but the lingering grip of Ardyn’s hand on his arm is word enough.

Early the next morning, Prompto stands on the steps of the citadel, dressed in his ceremonial robes once again. The sky is as blue as it was the day they arrived and he tries to focus on it rather than the protesters with their signs at the back of the crowd. Beside him Iedolas stands rigid, grave but formidable as King Regis addresses the growing crowd and media. On the far side Noctis is dressed in a pressed suit, hands clasped behind his back as they all face his people.

“Peace is on the horizon,” King Regis begins, his words steady and confident. “This war has plagued our lands for too long and our families and friends have suffered enough. We are prepared to do whatever it takes to bring it to an end.”

He pauses here as the crowd whispers worriedly and Prompto steels himself for the inevitable fallout.

“Niflheim has offered us an armistice and we are pleased to announce not only has a treaty has been drafted, but that my son, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelem, and Imperial Prince Prompto Aldercapt are now engaged to be wed, as a union and demonstration of our goodwill.” 

The shock is immediate as the crowd surges forward, microphones shoving forward and questions overlapping each other in chaos. In the back, the protesters are screaming in outrage, corralled by some of the crownsguard to keep them from surging too close. King Regis is quick to tie it all up, though his words are drowned out in the commotion, and they are all ushered back inside quickly. The echo of noise rings in Prompto’s ears long after.

The advisor going over everything had mentioned the disapproval rate in Lucis would be high and specified it as a reason why the tour was deemed necessary, but it’s another thing altogether to see it manifested before him and Prompto worries if something so superficial will actually manage to counteract such rampant hatred of outsiders. Bitterly he wonders how few here have even been touched by the war, safe behind their big wall of magic. He doubts many know of its hardships firsthand, aside from the refugees taken in from outlying lands like those in the Kingsglaive.

Still they push on. 

The treaty is signed a few hours later, publicly televised and witnessed from a room inside the citadel. Over the shoulders of their fathers, Noctis stands at attention, looking about as exhausted as Prompto feels. He’s not surprised, what with being blindsided by the stress of their lives about to be legally bound forever. It’s a lot to take in. At least Prompto had had some time to process it all before arriving in Lucis. 

Once Iedolas and Regis sign their names upon the parchment, they clap each other’s hand into a shake as a show of solidarity for the cameras. And that’s that.

Prompto’s fate is decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it! Thanks to everyone out there kudoing, bookmarking, and subscribing to this fic! And big thank you to the people who left comments, I reread them pretty much everyday, you guys rock. I'm so pleased with the response to this story so far - you guys are in for a wild ride! Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Even if it's two words, they'll make my week <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	4. Valse di Fantastica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Laughter spills from Prompto's lips, carefree and sweet as he tilts his head, eyes glinting in the light with a wild spark that sets Noctis’ insides on fire. There’s the boy he knew from all those years ago - he’s here, vibrant and alive, and Noctis is swept away, all his questions and worries overwhelmed with the unbidden feeling that everything is going to be okay. After all, there are worse fates than being tied to the orbit of this boy’s sunlight._
> 
> Gladio and Ignis express their concerns, Prompto and Noctis share a dance, and they finally have their talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a rough week or so for me, my dudes, and it's been hard to get in a good headspace for writing but here we are!! I got a wave of inspiration and stayed up until 3am editing this chapter for you all and I hope you like it <3 it's definitely one of my favorites so far. It's also the last one before the boys embark on the fated roadtrip, so I hope you guys are prepared for a wild ride. I know Ignis and Gladio have been a bit absent so far, but I promise there will be plenty of interactions between everyone on the tour!
> 
> This chapter was heavily inspired by two of pigeon-princess' art pieces [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/162385394472/ah-sorry-im-not-much-of-a-dancer-prompto) and [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/162555013032/the-two-princes-find-themselves-looking-out-over)!!! Please look at this lovely art which helped inspire this whole fanfic! As always, SO MUCH love to her for bouncing so many great ideas with me <3 And again thank you to my beta Juli and all my cheerleaders, y'all are the best.
> 
> Chapter title is from the Final Fantasy XV Soundtrack - I HIGHLY recommend playing it during the ballroom dance scene. I listened to it on repeat while I wrote so it's all based around the composition and on top of that, it really adds to the atmosphere of the whole encounter! You can listen to it on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

To say Noctis resents high society celebrations would be a drastic understatement. He reluctantly understands the need for it in this case, as the public announcement of the royal engagement had gone about as disastrously as could be expected. Following it up with the inevitable engagement party serves as a chance to test the waters with the upper class and get a feel for their reactions now that the news has had a chance to settle. Or at least, that’s how Ignis explained it. Even though it makes sense logically, that doesn’t mean Noctis has to like it.

So far the gala hasn’t been too bad in the way of high society well-to-dos. He’s managed to remember a few of the dignitaries’ names without Ignis’ help, which is an improvement to their usual routine. Tensions are still running high among the guests, but everyone is too polite to call attention to it. Fortunately, the repetitive push and pull of small talk has become almost innate to him by now, as awful as it is, and it comes in handy for letting his brain take a backseat as he listens to some finely dressed lord and lady drone on and on about their recent vacation overseas.

Past their shoulders and through the mingling crowd, Prompto's standing across the room in his ceremonial white robes. His face is pinched and pale, but it’s not enough to hide how luminous he is in the low lighting and Noctis’ heart leaps into his throat before he can stuff it back down inside his chest enough to properly respond about how lovely Altissian cuisine is.

They still haven’t had a chance to talk, and Noctis grows more and more restless with each missed opportunity.

His company breaks into another ramble, satisfied with his response, and Noctis scans the rest of the room. The real miracle of all of this is what the citadel staff has managed to plan with only a few days of warning. The main ballroom had been cleaned quickly in preparation for the gala and a menu for a full eight course dinner planned and sent to the kitchens for preparation. The citadel had been in overdrive the last few days, making sure everything was ready to host the guests.

Overhead the chandeliers sparkle and gleam, crystals swaying gently in the breeze filtering through the rows of balcony doors framed with gauzy curtains thrown open to let the summer evening air cool off the hall. The place is bustling with people dressed to the nines in shining suits and glimmering dresses and though the tone is still uneasy, it settles the further into the night it gets – and the more alcohol that’s consumed.

The couple before him laughs at something in their regaled adventure and he joins along before realizing it’s his chance to escape, thanking them for the engaging company and parting ways. Ignis sweeps in beside him a beat later, impeccable and striking in his suit and hair in its usual style up out of his eyes.

“All seems to be going well so far,” he remarks, trading out the empty champagne glass in Noctis’ hand for a full one.

Noctis sighs in thanks and takes a large sip. At least Ignis recognizes what it’s going to take to get him through this evening. He steps over to where Gladio is standing at attention against the wall, intimidating and regal in his uniform, hands clasped behind his back. He can’t speak while he’s on duty unless Noctis addresses him directly, but being near him sets his nerves at ease. He watches Gladio’s shoulders relax the smallest bit, gaze switching between analyzing the perimeter and over to where he’s keeping an eye on the other prince.

The night before, the three of them had returned to Noctis’ room together. They’d barely had the time to rest over the last few days in the whirlwind of preparations, let alone have time alone to discuss this entire mess with each other. Gladio had melted into the cushioned couch with a groan as Noctis scrambled to follow suit, leaning back against the arm to tuck his feet up under Gladio’s warm thigh. Although the plans for the gala were all set in motion and the treaty drafted and signed, it still took several minutes to convince Ignis to leave his pile of reports behind on the table to join them.

_“Well this was definitely not where I expected to be last week,” Noctis says, smiling ruefully._

_“I don’t think any of us did,” Ignis replies. Gladio grunts in agreement, leg jittering up and down before Noctis lays a comforting hand on it. “But a tour should prove beneficial if we manage to come across more royal tombs. We’ll have to be well prepared before we set sail for Niflheim.”_

_Frowning, Gladio shakes his head. “I don’t know how you guys are so okay with all of this,” he says, tone simmering just shy of furious._

_“We knew this day would come. It has always been in the cards that Noctis would be married off some day, I thought we’d all come to terms with it." Ignis slips his glasses up to rub tiredly at his eyes. “Furthermore, it was always a possibility Noctis would find Prompto again, though I'll admit I never imagined he’d make such reappearance.”_

_Noctis hadn’t either - hadn’t dared to dream it. Prompto was a piece of his past he held closely to admire and long for on occasion, but he knows nostalgia is a seductive liar. It's proof enough now, in the unsteady footing between them from all their unsaid words, all the time that has passed._

_“Yeah, well that was before we found out the kid is a fucking Niff,” Gladio snaps._

_There’s a resounding silence in the room so quiet Noctis can hear his heart pounding in his ears, hand hovering timidly over where it had been resting on Gladio’s leg. He sets it on his bunched shoulders instead and at the soft touch Gladio folds, expression crumbling as he curls down to press his face to the line of Noctis’ shoulder, long hair tickling his neck. Ignis follows their movement reflexively to press a comforting hand to Gladio’s back._

_When he speaks, his breath is feather-light against Noctis’ skin. “‘M sorry. I just… I’m worried."_

_“I’m not,” Noctis says firmly, then slumps. “Well, maybe I am, but I know you both have my back no matter what and that’s enough for me. I won’t lie to you, I’m relieved to have found Prompto again, but I don’t know if what we had back then will be the same. He’s… different, quieter. And there’s definitely something fishy about this whole treaty.”_

_“I concur. It all seems far too convenient, them giving our territories back for the price of a mere surface marriage. Niflheim’s public has been increasingly disquieted, but other than smoothing over the disapproval there, this deal hardly benefits them,” reasons Ignis._

__

__

_“Hopefully we’ll uncover more on our tour. I worry for our stay in Gralea, it’s not exactly a strategic location for us, and then there’s the hindrance of having Prince Prompto along with us on this whole tour. I trust your judgment Noctis, and if even you are unsure of his intentions, we’d best be on our guard.”_

_“I think there’s a lot more to this than there appears,” Gladio says, sitting up again and frowning. “The other day, I went back to the training rooms.”_

_Squeezing his hand, Noctis thinks of how Gladio had stormed away as soon as was permitted once he’d connected the dots about Prompto and Tenebrae._

__

_“He was there, sparring with Ulric, and when I pulled Nyx out and asked about it he told me he’d brought the kid there to take his mind off things - said he’s been having nightmares, told me about the things he’s seen, how the rest of the entourage treats him. You saw how he behaved in all the meetings right?”_

_Noctis’ heart drops to his stomach, thinking of how quiet and withdrawn he’d been. “You don’t think…”_

_“I don’t know what to think. I’m only telling you what I’ve heard. It could all be an act, in the end. Something to throw us off guard.”_

_“Or perhaps the treaty is a heavy burden on both sides,” says Ignis. “Either way, as long as we stay sharp, focus on finding more royal arms, and take note of anything suspicious, I believe we should be all right.”_

_Gladio snorts. “Hopefully.”_

_“And then what?” asks Noctis, as if it really is that simple. He desperately wants to believe it will be, despite the grimace set on Ignis' face._

_“Then we go from there.”_

They’d all agreed to keep a closer eye on the other prince and his interactions with the entourage. Of course, it’s been hard to do so when Noctis has barely seen Prompto since negations ended and they had their little confrontation in the hallway. Here at the gala all Noctis has noticed is how stiffly he's standing by the chancellor’s side and how _tired_ he looks.

It takes three champagne flutes before Noctis has the courage to cross the room. He sidles up beside Prompto and waits for a suitable break in the conversation to cut in.

“Pardon me."

The chancellor, Izunia he thinks, looks down at him with glinting eyes beneath his wild hair and a raised brow. It’s enough to make Noctis’ stomach turn over, but he merely gives him a courteous nod and tries not to show how uneasy the guy makes him. He chalks it up to the champagne.

“May I, uh, have this dance?” he asks awkwardly, before stumbling to clarify further, “With you?” 

Prompto’s face drops into open surprise before it’s quickly schooled into a quiet bashfulness. His cheeks are pink and Noctis briefly wonders if he’s recalling their shared remembrance in the gardens… or if he’s embarrassed from their last encounter.

These past few days Noctis has thought of little else but this radiant blonde who has been thrown back into his life by happenstance. Friends have always been hard to come by, that much he’d learned through the lonely years of his education. Everyone is too afraid, overshadowed by a label they didn’t dare to look past, and those who _are_ brave enough only try to take advantage of it. Prompto had done neither, only accepted him for who he was and made the best of all their time together.

But it’s different now - Prompto’s different. There’s so much time lost between them and Noctis simultaneously feels stretched between their past and their present. It’s disorienting trying to keep the two separate, like an overlapping double vision behind rose-tinted lenses. Noctis blinks hard.

He watches as Prompto’s eyes dart over timidly to Izunia, as if to gauge his response, and when Noctis follows his gaze Izunia's lips curl into a sharp smile despite the edge in his gaze.. “I suppose my company is desired elsewhere,” he says, and slinks off, leaving them alone.

It’s quiet, a tentative bridge formed between them Noctis is afraid of breaking, but still he risks it – reaches out, palm up in invitation and desperately hoping his hand isn’t embarrassingly sweaty. There’s a small smile tugging at the corners of Prompto’s lips and Noctis responds with one of his own before he can tamp it down. The hand placed in his feels like a livewire, energy buzzing through the connection as Noctis whisks him off to the dance floor.

As the current song slows to an end and those who had danced to it pause to politely applaud the musicians, there’s an empty beat Noctis uses to pull Prompto in close, guiding a hand to rest on his shoulder before cradling the other lightly in his left hand. He’s not sure what all is custom to dance in Niflheim, but Prompto doesn’t object to him taking the lead and Noctis is nervous for once, instead of annoyed. It’s been a while since he’s had a partner he’s actually _wanted_ to dance with.

The piano and violins strike up a soft, easy waltz and Noctis leads them across the polished floor, background blurring in a whirl of colors and sparkling crystals. Prompto follows along well enough at first, bending to Noctis’ cues easily, but as the tempo picks up in a flourished crescendo his eyes get stuck on his feet.

“Ah, sorry, I’m not much of a dancer,” Prompto mumbles as he stumble over Noctis’ toes yet _again_ , but it's nothing other than hopelessly endearing. They right themselves as the music slows, violin ringing out above the din, sonorous and sweet.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Noctis smiles warmly and tugs him closer. “Do they not have balls in Niflheim?”

Prompto hesitates, his face falling slightly and pulling tight in concentration as his eyes return to the floor. “Well, ah… no. Not really.”

Noctis frowns. On the one hand he thinks it must be nice to have skipped out on the exhaustive wine and dine of so many officials, but Prompto looks anything but happy about it. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re missing out on much,” he says, half in jest to clear the air, and when Prompto rewards him a small smile he melts inside.

They don’t have the opportunity talk much as the music swells back into the refrain and they focus instead on the steps that whisk them around and around the ballroom, circling and changing directions. They’ve found their rhythm now, settled into the repetitive steps and each others’ embrace.

Vaguely, Noctis realizes they’re the only ones left on the floor, the other couples having dropped off one by one as they realized who had joined them. He ignores the heat of their stares in lieu of spinning Prompto out, the music dipping once again, before guiding him back into a series of smaller steps which brings them close and keeps them closer. 

They’re flowing in tandem now, hearts beating loudly, and Noctis is having a hard time looking away from Prompto. His bright blue eyes are shining in the glittering lights of the chandeliers and his cheeks are rosy with the effort of keeping up, hair hanging soft against his face. Prompto is warm and pliant in his arms, following along with relative ease. He stumbles now and again but Noctis merely tightens his hold to steady him.

They transition back into the traditional three-step waltz again as the music swells and Noctis gets lost in their tiny bubble of each other. It’s as though the crowd around them has faded completely, leaving them alone together, finally allowed this one moment of intimacy. Prompto’s eyes slide closed and Noctis is transfixed by the soft passing of serenity over his face as they spin and spin and spin, until abruptly, the music stops on a final, lingering note and they're left halted, breathless, in each other’s arms.

The air between them fills with their heavy gasps of exertion. It’s hot from the heat of their clothes and the lights beating down overhead, but Prompto is glowing, hair tousled and skin flushed iridescently. As his eyes dip lower, Noctis struggles to remember why he shouldn’t kiss him then and there, slowly inching closer, when the world they’d woven together is popped by polite applause from crowd recognizing the first dance between the betrothed couple.

Embarrassed, they move to step away from each other, but Noctis lets his hands linger. “Meet me later tonight?” He can’t let go yet, still hasn’t been able to talk to him about everything happening between them. That needs to change.

Prompto hesitates. “Where?”

“I’ll meet you in the main hall, okay? When everyone else has gone to bed,” he rushes out and Noctis gives his hand one last squeeze before they part and are swept up again by the crowd. He sighs in relief – they’ll have a chance to figure this out… hopefully.

The call sounds for dinner and the crowds drift slowly from their scattered places between the balconies and the dance floor to the round tables set up near the back of the hall. One long rectangular one sits on a raised platform above the rest, chairs aligned along one side to face the other tables below, and Noctis moves to take his place beside his father in the middle with Prompto seated on the other side of the emperor.

Once everyone has been seated, King Regis rises from his seat and a hush falls over the hall as he gestures for quiet. “I’ll keep this brief, as I’m sure we’re all eager to dine,” he jokes, earning gentle laughter. “Thank you all for joining us in celebration this evening. It is a happy occasion celebrating the impending union between our countries and bringing peace to our lands at long last." There’s a general murmur of discontent, followed with polite applause.

Right as his father is about to signal for the first course to be brought out, Chancellor Izunia rises, the clang of silverware on a crystal cup ringing out through the hall. 

“I propose a toast,” he says, jovial in tone, but his eyes slip between Prompto and Noctis with such intensity than Noctis fights the urge to shrink back in his seat. “To the happy couple: may your union be lasting and _prosperous._ ”

It feels more like a warning than commendation. He raises his glass towards them both before taking a sip, sharp eyes locking with Noctis’ over the rim of the cup. The crowd follows his lead, raising their glasses and calling out in a show of agreement.

“Well then, shall we?” says Regis, and the hall is filled with the bustle of plates being served, guests chattering with the others seated at their respective tables. 

Dinner is a quiet affair at their table for the most part. Izunia tries to keep the conversation flowing, but it’s stifled when it becomes apparent no one seated there is willing to cater to his two-edged comments. Even the emperor eats silently, skin pale under the lighting. 

Noctis doesn’t interact much with Prompto, aside from one point where he watches Noctis shove the vegetables in a dish to side with poorly concealed amusement. He flushes red, slightly embarrassed, but not enough to actually attempt to _eat_ them. 

By the final course, he’s restless in his chair, barely remembering to grab the right spoon for his dessert, until at long last the meal is over. There’s still a while to go, but the guests are all happy to revel in their full bellies and empty conversations. He of course, has to stay until the end to thank everyone for their attendance as they’re ushered out of the hall and safely into their cars by their drivers or into rooms for the night as previously arranged and Prompto stands beside him to share in the paid gratitude, though there’s hardly any time to talk between goodbyes.

When the last hand has been shaken and the last dignitary shuffled down the hall, Noctis is finally, _finally_ allowed to retreat back in his own quarters. As he makes to leave the hall, he makes eye contact with Prompto, one last time, receiving a slight nod in confirmation. They’re still on then, and his chest restricts with nerves.

He showers while he waits, washing the grime of the evening away and letting the warmth of the water soak deep into his tense muscles. After, he slips into some more comfortable sleep clothes, a shirt and soft pants before resigning to a lot of pacing. He waits long enough to make sure the castle has gone quiet for the night, and longer still before he can slip out of his room unnoticed. 

A few guards are stationed here and there for the night watch, but Noctis dodges their patrols with practiced ease, slipping silently towards their specified meeting place. His heart picks up with every step he takes closer to the front hall, so quickly that when reaches it he’s afraid it may ricochet out of his chest and pulls up short.

It’s empty.

The disappointment catches him off guard, seeping into his veins slowly like a marsh he’d been pretending was a desert. Maybe Prompto got bored waiting for him and went back to bed? Or maybe he hadn’t been able to slip away yet? 

Noctis peeks down the other connecting halls to check if he’s gotten waylaid by any of the guards. They’d probably be suspicious of a Niff sneaking around the castle in the small hours of the morning, wouldn’t they? A finger of fear curls down his spine at the thought. Shit, he really didn’t think this through.

Right as Noctis wonders if perhaps he’s caused an international incident with his request, he finds him. Well, he finds the glaive, pulling up short when he catches sight of him leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and watching at Noctis expectantly. There isn’t ever a patrol here and he’d almost passed right by without thought. Frozen in his steps, he’s certain he’s about to be reprimanded, but when he blinks his eyes adjust and he recognizes the glaive who often tails Prompto.

Nyx smirks and jerks his head towards the door next to him, which Noctis realizes is slightly ajar.

Sure enough, when he slips through it, Prompto is there, staring up at the enormous murals painted across the upper walls – sprawling depictions of the Hexatheon, the Six Gods – their stories, and their mandate. Prompto is standing beneath one depicting four figures huddled together in the middle, holding back an encroaching darkness with a light shared between them. When Noctis steps further into the room, he peers briefly over his shoulder, before turning back to the picture.

“Almost thought you’d forgotten,” Noctis says, half joking as he stops beside him.

“Ah… no." Prompto sounds distant, eyes locked onto the vast painting, and he seems much smaller beneath its breadth. He’s fiddling with a silver bangle adorning his wrist and it’s disconcerting how his slight figure is emphasized by the sweats and a t-shirt he’s dressed in, rather than filled by the ostentatious garb of his daywear. Noctis tries hard not to stare at where his clavicle peeks out from under the collar. “I was just – this room…”

“Yeah it’s kinda… foreboding. I’ve always hated coming in here,” Noctis confesses, gazing up at the elaborate murals. “I’m not sure why.” It’s the energy in the air, a crackle of tension that sets his teeth on edge every time, like something about to boil over.

Prompto hums thoughtfully. “What does it mean?”

Noctis shrugs. “These have been here almost as long as the line of Lucis itself, I think. A lot of Insomnia was rebuilt over time on the foundations of the original kingdom, including the citadel. Though they haven’t faded a day in age, the memory of them definitely has. There are a lot of different interpretations out there, but I think if anyone were to make sense of it all, it’d be Ignis.” 

At Prompto’s terribly blank look he scrambles to explain. “Uh, my advisor, you know, glasses… spiky hair?”

“Oh, right. The one who drafted the treaty.”

They stand in silence, staring up as the enormity of the painting bears down on them. Even in childhood this room had felt like a smothering press on Noctis’ shoulders whenever he’d accidentally stumble into it. He shivers, ready to move on and away from the chilling stare of it, but he’s not entirely sure how to proceed, awkward in the uncharted territory.

“Did you know?” he says, voice echoing in the empty room. “In Tenebrae, did you know I was…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely in the air at the ornate room, at the citadel, at Lucis itself.

Prompto seems to sense the hidden implication – that somehow the whole thing was a ruse, some sort of elaborate sham of a friendship pressed upon him as prince of Niflheim – and whips around to face him. “No!” he answers briskly, sounding offended. “I was – I was your friend because I wanted to be.”

“Good,” says Noctis, reassured by the raw emotion of Prompto’s answer. “I didn’t either, by the way. Know about you.”

“I know,” says Prompto, his voice sounding sad around the edges. 

They both sigh in relief, the air cleared with the knowledge that their old friendship was not a sham on either end, strengthened by their affirmed mutual anonymity. The lines of time are blurring again and Noctis’ fingers twitch. He wants so badly to reach out and take Prompto’s hand.

“C’mon, I wanna show you something,” he says instead, jerking his head towards the door. He pauses, watching as Prompto gives one last glance at the walls before scurrying after him.

Noctis pokes his head out the door to check if the coast is clear, ignoring the amused glance Nyx sends his way, before slipping out and heading over to the elevators. He hears the door shut as Prompto trails after him into the open lift, Nyx following along silently. Noctis presses the button for the top floor and swipes his keycard to gain access for the elevator to begin its long ascent. 

Several times Prompto straightens as if he’s on the verge of saying something but stops. He looks peakish in the fluorescent lighting and Noctis is about to ask him if he’s all right, but the sound signaling their arrival interrupts. The doors part and they step out onto the terrace overlooking the city.

Insomnia is aptly named, as the streets are still bustling below despite the early hour and the lights of the skyline twinkle bright enough that there's little view of the stars above them. Although it's dazzling enough to rival their beauty, Noctis misses it – the dark expanse of swirling galaxies from memories of nights spent camping at Leiden havens with Gladio and Ignis.

Noctis watches Prompto step forward slowly to the edge of the railing, eyes wide as he stares out over the city, and doesn’t move, frozen, for so long Noctis swears he’s fucked it all up, _again_. Tomorrow he’ll have to tell his dad to cancel the treaty and resume the war, all because of this dumb mistake, but then Prompto is smiling, and it’s so brilliant that every street light dim in comparison. 

Noctis jolts forward, hands outstretched to catch when he leans out over the railing. Laughter spills from Prompto's lips, carefree and sweet as he tilts his head, eyes glinting in the light with a wild spark that sets Noctis’ insides on fire. There’s the boy he knew from all those years ago - he’s here, vibrant and alive, and Noctis is swept away, all his questions and worries overwhelmed with the unbidden feeling that everything is going to be okay. After all, there are worse fates than being tied to the orbit of this boy’s sunlight.

Stepping back, Prompto moves to lean against the railing with his arms propped up. Both Nyx and Noctis relax, the former retreating to a safe distance away to give them the illusion of privacy. Noctis moves to mirror Prompto, whose face is calmer now, eyes shining and bittersweet around the edges. He's soft and fragile up here, far away from the weight of their destinies, and Noctis feels the urge again, wants so badly to touch, to reach out and pull him closer like the dance they’d shared and not let go until the first fingers of dawn peel back the darkness.

“Even at night, everything is so bright,” says Prompto, gazing out over the horizon. “It’s beautiful.”

Noctis can’t tear his eyes from him – hasn’t looked at the city once since they came up here. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It is.” And when he reaches out his hand to gently take Prompto’s fingers, he doesn’t pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! Thank you so much for reading!! Every comment, kudo, subscription, and bookmark means so, so much to me. Feel free to let me know what you thought of this chapter! I absolutely love getting to read about what everyone is feeling during this story, it's the highlight of my day <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	5. Dawning of a New Era Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Out here Ardyn’s warnings feel miles away and he can’t stop the smile slipping out as he stretches languidly in the sunlight, taking a deep pull of the fresh air. He doesn’t think he’s ever taken breaths so sweet before, not in a long time._
> 
> The impending tour begins, the boys discover Prompto has some handy skills, and some pests are taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! First chapter of 2018, how exciting! I hope the fact that it’s a behemoth makes up for how long it's been - I had a nasty bout of writer's block while I was visiting home and then this chapter turned out to be a monster in size. It definitely takes the cake for the longest one thus far.
> 
> There's also some new GORGEOUS art for this chapter over here [!!!!!!](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/169603534427/theres-a-tug-in-his-stomach-again-not-as-hard) à la my partner-in-crime pigeon-princess so please take a look and go tell her how much you love it! As always, big thanks to her for bouncing ideas with me and reading it all over to make sure things are good, along with my lovely best friend and beta Juli and the merry band of cheerleaders who continue to push me on! Special shoutout to [Prrrrmm](http://prrrrmm.tumblr.com) for being so awesome and kicking my butt into gear to get this chapter done <3
> 
> And an announcement!  
> I made a writing blog - [here](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com). On it you'll find some special features and previews, both from this universe and other fics I've been planning, as well as updates on how it's all going! Feel free to come ask questions or chat with me<3
> 
> Chapter title is from Waiting by Green Day, which you can find on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

The Regalia is quite possibly the fanciest car Prompto has ever seen in real life, embodying everything different between Lucis and Niflheim in its clean, sleek lines – and he’d thought the same thing about one that had picked them up at the west gate of Insomnia not that long ago. In Gralea, the streets are too narrow for anything larger than foot traffic and most of the transportation funds are funneled into maintaining the vast metro system and connecting trains. The only vehicles he’d seen from his bedroom windows in the manor beneath Zegnautus Keep were the boxy delivery trucks which sometimes came and left, carting who knows what to who knows where and built entirely for efficiency over elegance.

He stares at it from the bottom of the steps outside the citadel and tries hard not to let his eyes drift over to where the others are gathered nearby. Prompto hasn’t seen Noctis in anything other than passing since the night on the roof, both of them too engaged in the hustle and bustle of preparing for their journey to have any more heart to hearts. Or least that’s what he told himself as he intentionally swept away to avoid him. 

Between Noctis and the shining lights and glittering ballroom, he’d nearly gotten lost. In reality, it was a passing dream, gone as quick as it had come. He’d almost fallen for it, too; fallen right into the hypnotizing whirl, but he knows better. Prompto’s fingers drift down to twist the silver bangle sitting snugly around his wrist as his mind flashes to the night after he’d returned from the roof.

_“My, my, aren’t you having fun.”_

_Prompto jumps, elbow smashing into the door to his room he’d been easing shut quietly. Nyx appears in the gap, concern on his face as Prompto rubs his arm nervously, but returns to his post outside the room at the dismissive flick of Ardyn’s fingers._

_“Y-you scared me,” he says shakily. Weak sunlight is only just beginning to spill through the windows, casting Ardyn half in shadows. Prompto hadn’t known they’d been up there so long._

_“_ I _scared_ you?” _Ardyn says and Prompto winces. “I wasn't the one sneaking out at night and running around with the Prince of Lucis all starry-eyed. How cruel Prompto, have you forgotten all about me?”_

_The words stick sharply in Prompto’s throat with an aborted noise as his mind races to think of how to not dig a deeper grave._

_“Ah, ah! Don’t protest,” Ardyn sneers, “I see the way you look at him.”_

_Prompto shuts his jaw with a click and curls in around the half-hearted objections drying up on his tongue. They clear the way for the fear bubbling in his gut as Ardyn draws close and reaches out to wrap around his wrist, metal biting sharply beneath his grip. “Do you think he’d want you if he knew what you were supposed to become?”_

_The barb hits its mark and Prompto blinks rapidly, trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing so as he lets go of his wrist to tilt his chin up, the skin under his fingertips burning._

_“Y-you know where my loyalties lie,” he chokes out, gritting his teeth and Ardyn hums thoughtfully, stroking his thumb gently under Prompto’s eye._

_“I let you dally about with your little friends in Niflheim because it’s amusing how they try so hard to fight their fate,” he says before leaning in, breath hot on Prompto’s neck, “but my plan will always be the end game. I’m all you’ve got, never forget that.”_

_Nodding shakily, he waits as Ardyn lingers, letting the full warning of his words sink in before he pats Prompto’s cheek and steps away. “Do try and get some rest before morning,” he says as he opens the door. “And let’s… refrain from any further trysts, shall we? We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time with that young ambassador from Accordo.”_

_The door shuts behind him with all the heavy finality of a cell door._

Prompto stares hard up at the shimmering barrier of magic barely visible against the sky. Ardyn’s wrong – this is not like the last time at all, he won’t let it be. Nothing can get in the way of what he has to do, no matter how much he wants it. He hopes he doesn’t look as tired as he feels, the space under his eyes taunt and heavy from the sleepless night before.

Starting today, he’ll be on his own. His father, along with the rest of the envoy, will be returning to Niflheim to mobilize the trade agreement and the organized repeal of military force in Lucis, as was outlined in the treaty. 

Alone in the shadow of the citadel’s towers, he lets his eyes slide over to where Noctis stands before his own father with his advisor Ignis hovering at a respectful distance near them. The king reaches out to draw Noctis into a fierce hug and an uncomfortable vine of envy sprouts in Prompto’s chest, curling tightly between his ribs as he averts his eyes.

He’s so focused on shoving it back down he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone steps up beside him. It’s Noctis’ shield again – standing close enough that Prompto has the startling realization he only comes up to the man’s shoulders. This time he desperately wracks his memories for the man’s name. It’s something floral, Prompto thinks, gaze still stuck on the corded muscle of his crossed arms.

“Good to see you packed at least one sensible outfit,” he says, and Prompto’s brows shoot up at the dig before he can stop them. The man watches him from the corner of his eye, expression blank.

Prompto looks down at the red tank top and cargo pants he’d slipped into earlier and wonders if there’s a hidden subtext in his remark meaning they’re no good. He stands out brightly among all the royal black fatigues, certainly not as much as he would have in his ceremonial robes, but it still makes him uncomfortably aware of how out of place he is. The shield (Gladiolus – that’s it) doesn’t say anything else to him, but he doesn’t move either, so they stand together in stoic silence and wait for Noctis to tie up his goodbyes.

Trying to find a distraction, Prompto trains his gaze back the Regalia, the shine of the black paint glinting in the morning sunlight, elegant and polished. The longer he stares, the more his fingers itch to take a peek under the hood – to take it apart and see if it’s as sleek on the inside as it is the outside. As he stares at the compact trunk, it occurs to Prompto to ask where everything for the trip has been sequestered away. His own bag had been brought down earlier but surely all their supplies couldn’t fit in there, right? But before he can build the courage to ask, the farewells wrap up and when Gladiolus moves for the car he scrambles to follow behind.

Shotgun is definitely not where he expects to end up, but it does put him both in the seat furthest from Noctis lounging in the back _and_ under the watchful eyes of Gladiolus behind him so it makes sense strategically. The fresh smell of new leather hangs warmly in the air and Prompto folds under the urge to run his hands along it, fingers twitching where they hover reverently over the full trim along the dashboard.

“All set?” asks Ignis as he slides into the driver’s seat. 

A pointed glance from him sends Prompto scrambling for his seatbelt. He hasn’t interacted much with the advisor since the day in the gardens, but he already knows Ignis is not one to be trifled with. He’s seen how fierce he is in the counsel room, sharp as a tack as he fielded the opposition and played all his cards perfectly. It’s no wonder most of the treaty was penned under his own capable hand.

“As we’ll ever be,” drawls Noctis and Prompto absolutely refuses to check his expression, no matter how much he can feel the other’s eyes on him. The night on the roof had been a slip up, it won’t happen again. 

When the key turns, he melts under the purr of the engine kicking in and sinks into the seat to watch the scenery fly by. The drive to the edge of Insomnia takes just as long as it did the day they arrived, but this time around he doesn’t mind as much. Sure, the silence is a little stilted between them, but at least this time he isn’t close to passing out from nerves. He can actually pay attention to the streets, watching the way they intersect and weave and overlap until he’s sure he’d be good and lost on his own. 

Where Gralea is crowded and narrow, with buildings stretching high into the sky and deep into the ground, Insomnia is sprawling and vast. The sheer amount of people who must be living here rattles his mind. 

In the distance, the wall is an ever-constant presence, towering higher over them the further they get into the outskirts of the city. It’s as enormous and formidable as Prompto remembers and he tries to relax as they slow for the checkpoint. Ignis rolls the window down and passes over some sort of paper which gets them waved through the gate without much hassle and Prompto sits up on the edge of his seat as they pass, eyes locked through the windshield. He hadn’t gotten to see much on the way in, escorted directly from the airship to the car as quickly as possible – but now, now his heartbeat grows in sync with the patch of brilliant blue at the end of the tunnel. 

And then they’re out.

He can barely hold back his gasp. From the gate stretches a long, curving bridge out over a body of water glittering in the sun. The horizon seems so far away, so much space between them and the strip of land in the near distance. He doesn’t want to blink, doesn’t want to breathe, too afraid it will all disappear. Ignis glances at him and presses a switch, prompting the familiar whirring noise of mechanics at work as the roof of the car peels back, and it’s all _there,_ right in the car with him. 

The breeze whips through his hair as they speed over the bridge, the cries of the sea birds wheeling overhead following them as they go. The smell of salt is strong and sits at the back of his tongue. It’s been so long since the sun’s rays have felt this gentle on his skin. 

Out here Ardyn’s warnings feel miles away and Prompto can’t stop the smile slipping out as he stretches languidly in the sunlight, taking a deep pull of the fresh air. He doesn’t think he’s ever taken breaths so sweet before, not in a long time. He leans his arms on the door and watches the water rush by them, blues and greens mixing together as the water rocks and sways. 

The world is crisp and bright, and everything leading up to this point has been worth it. He turns and catches Noctis watching him with soft eyes, and maybe, Prompto thinks, maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

* * *

They don’t even make it to Hammerhead when the car breaks down.

“Unbelievable,” Noctis scoffs as Ignis guides the car to a stop on the side of the road and drops his forehead to rest against the steering wheel with a deep sigh. Prompto’s afraid the poor man has given up before they’ve even started, but instead he pulls out his phone.

After a brief, hushed conversation he hangs up and says, “It’s going to be a while before the garage can send someone out to us. It seems we’ve caught them on a rather busy day.”

“Not exactly a fairytale beginning, huh Prince Noctis,” Gladiolus ribs, nudging Noctis from across the seat with a grin. Noctis grunts in annoyance and smacks his elbow away, wilting against the seat and when their eyes meet Prompto whips back around in his seat, blushing heavily and hoping it passes off as the heat.

Leide is sweltering, and as he stares out over the dusty landscape Prompto swears he can actually see the heat rising off the pavement. The Niflheim airships had been sealed off from the pressing wave of it when they’d crossed over to Insomnia, not offering even a glimpse of the passing landscape. Prompto’s never felt the press of the sun so closely on the back of his neck, never seen so much dirt and scrubland before in his life. Some of it has already worked its way into his boots and he hasn’t even _left the car yet_.

He loves it.

“We let ourselves get carried away,” Ignis says, already typing out several preemptive messages on his phone.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope this isn’t some omen,” says Gladiolus, digging through the bag at his feet to pull out a book, and Prompto winces as the weight of this trip crashes back down on him. 

It goes quiet in the car, everyone settling in to wait and he shifts uncomfortably, leaning back against the door. All he can think about is how this is only day one of an entire tour spent in each other’s back pockets and how much is jammed deep in his. Tapping his fingers against his leg nervously, he steals a glance at Ignis out of the corner of his eye.

“Um." 

When Ignis gives him his attention his throat dries up like the ground around them. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but because his traitorous mouth spoke for him, he swallows and tries again. 

“Could I take a look?” He jerks thumb towards the front end of the Regalia and freezes under everyone's eyes.

“Well.” Ignis blinks. “I suppose I don’t see why not.” Prompto perks up, trying hard to bite back his smile as he fumbles with his seatbelt.

“Ignis,” Gladiolus says lowly, but it’s Noctis’ turn to elbow him and he falls silent. Prompto’s too focused on getting the door handle to work to care about the warning in his tone and his footsteps crunch as he steps from the car to circle around front.

The metal of the hood is hot beneath his fingers, but when Ignis pops the inside latch he quickly moves to prop it open. Vaguely he registers the others moving to join him and leans further inside, swiping at a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. It’s beautiful, all the conjoined parts and pieces fitting together like the world’s most complex jigsaw puzzle. His fingers twitch, eager to work, but he takes his time to pick out what he recognizes from the manuals – the belt, the battery, the oil chamber, and the…

“Ah hah,” he says brightly, reaching in to poke at a cylinder. “That’s most likely the problem right there.” Gladiolus crowds up next to him to peer inside and Prompto swiftly shies away. 

“What exactly is it?” he asks skeptically, peering down at the machinery. It’s strange how in the counsel room Prompto had been completely lost, but in front of this big riddle he’s the one with all the answers. Satisfaction pulls at the corner of his lips. He likes it out here.

“It's the alternator. The battery dial on the dashboard was in the red, wasn’t it Ignis?” he asks and Ignis nods hesitantly, eyebrows furrowed. “So it’s either this little guy or the battery itself, which would be much, much worse. I don’t suppose you guys have any sort of multimeter on hand?” 

The varying expressions of utter confusion is answer enough.

“Erm, well, we have a toolbox somewhere, right?” says Noctis, and he shuts his eyes in concentration and reaches out to pull exactly that out of thin air in a flash of glittering blue. A startled cry leaves Prompto’s lips and Noctis jumps, dropping the heavy box to the ground with a clang and a cloud of dust. 

“What! I – how did you do that?!” he shrieks, unable to tear his eyes away from the toolbox Noctis conjured up out of nowhere.

The others relax as they realize what happened and Noctis ducks his head bashfully, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well, the magic of the crystal has this… ether I’m connected to. It’s where we store pretty much everything.”

Right, the crystal. Prompto’s gut tightens. Magic isn’t common in Niflheim, unless you have the unfortunate experience of happening upon a Magitek Trooper. He sends a silent prayer to each of the six astrals hoping they won’t run into any out here.

“I’m… what,” babbles Prompto aloud, still staring wide-eyed. He hates that out of all the fucked up crap in his life, a magical closet to dump things in is what trips him up the most. Blinking hard, he absently wonders if his bag is somewhere in there.

“Wouldn’t they have checked the car before we left?” Ignis asks, as Prompto hesitantly pokes the toolbox with his toe. When nothing happens he drops in to a crouch and runs his hand over it, caution slowly morphing into awe.

“This is so cool,” he says to himself as he digs around inside, then answers the question. “Alternators tend to wear out over time. If you haven’t driven the car this far recently, it could have used up its last breath.”

“I ‘spose it _has_ been a while since we last went out of the city,” admits Gladiolus, scratching his neck, and Prompto can still feel him watching closely as he finds the little box, stands, and leans back in under the hood.

First he checks the battery, quickly doing the math and realizing the voltage is not up to speed, as he suspected. Then he moves to test the alternator. “Could one of you turn the engine back on?”

It takes a few tries for the engine to turn over, but when it stutters to life again Prompto reattaches the test leads to the battery and watches the numbers closely. Satisfied, he leans over and signals for Ignis to shut it off again. “Well, it’s definitely the alternator and not the battery. We’ll need a new one to get it running right again.”

“Where’d you learn all this stuff?” asks Gladiolus skeptically. “Doesn’t seem like something a Niff prince would need to know. How can we be sure you won’t accidentally snip something important while you’re messing around in there? We should leave this to the professionals.”

“I may not be great at politics, but I _am_ at fixing things,” says Prompto, hunching in on himself defensively. There’s another long beat of silence and Prompto wishes the cracked ground would open up to swallow him whole.

Ignis clears his throat. “Regardless, we’re still stranded without the part we need.”

“There’s no way to fix this one?” asks Noctis, stepping forward to look inside the car. Somehow he's remarkably put together for someone wearing all black in this heat and Prompto swallows hard, gaze slipping from the curve of his back.

“Well…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. That’s a bit beyond what a manual can teach and he doubts Gladiolus will let him poke around in there longer than necessary. “It’s a generator which converts mechanical energy to electrical energy, so unless you’ve got something like that holed up in your armiger thingy, we’re stuck.” He watches the others all exchange a glance and gawks. “No way, really?”

Noctis shrugs. “Well, sorta. Can you pull it out of the car? I’m not entirely sure if this will work and I’d rather not fry the whole thing.”

“I guess,” Prompto says, still confused, and goes to pull a wrench out of the box. 

It’s been so long since he’s been in his element and he gets lost in the simplicity of moving parts around and disconnecting wires. It makes much more sense to him than the finer end of diplomacy; everything is exactly what it’s supposed to be. The bolts take the longest and by the time he pulls the alternator out, his hands are greasy and sore, but he smiles proudly as he holds it out to Noctis.

“It only needs some electrical energy to keep it going until we get to Hammerhead right?” Noctis asks, reaching out to take it from his hands and Gladiolus cross his arms but make no move to intercede.

He watches Noctis cradle the alternator tenderly in both hands. “Uh, yeah, to put it simply.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Noctis?” Ignis interrupts and reaches out. “Perhaps I should –“

“Nah, it’s fine. Not like I haven’t shocked myself before." 

Before Prompto can blink there’s a blinding flash, the scent of ozone stinging sharp in his nose. A blue aura pulses around the alternator, throwing off little flares every so often. When Noctis holds it out for him to take, Prompto stumbles back hastily. It’s like the toolbox all over again, except this time it’s _sparking._

“Are you sure that’s safe?” he squeaks, staring with wide eyes.

“I mean, it should be? All the magic is contained in the machinery, see?” He runs his hand through the glow and flips the part over a few times before holding out again for Prompto to take.

Glancing at Ignis and Gladiolus reveals nothing to him as they watch like it’s a normal occurrence, and he realizes for them it probably is. Prompto reaches out and holds his hands over the alternator. He winces, anticipating a shock, but there’s nothing, only the smooth metal under his fingertips. Noctis tips it into his hands and Prompto’s eyebrows shoot up, staring down in amazement. 

He shakes his head to clear it and gently lowers it into place, wary of one wrong bump setting it off. “I dunno if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot.”

It’s faster putting it all back together. He tries to be as steady as possible around the magic, Prompto’s hands working swiftly in reverse as he tightens bolts, slips the belt back on, and reconnects all the cables. When he’s double and triple checked everything's secure he brushes off he shuts the hood with a bang. “All right, it’s set. Test it out?”

He follows Ignis to the driver’s door and watches the dashboard intently. The car starts up on the first try and Prompto whoops when the battery dial is in the clear. “Better get going,” he says, moving to hastily shut the hood again, “we don’t know how long it’ll hold out.” 

“Right,” agrees Noctis and they all pile back into the car where Ignis is already on the phone, placing a call to cancel the tow truck before shifting gears smoothly. 

The breeze helps drain away some of the hot air around them and Prompto leans against the door trying desperately to cool off. Thankfully, the outpost is only about twenty minutes down the road from where they’d broken down and before he knows it, Ignis is pulling up in front of a spacious garage lined with mostly trucks. 

It’s the smallest town Prompto’s ever seen, nothing more than a few houses and buildings clustered around the main center they’d pulled into, water tower standing tall. Far on the left is a large, circular building and right in the middle is a small store with a few gas pumps out front, brushy plants lined along the roof. He stumbles back out into the simmering wall of heat and blinks up at the giant hammerhead shark painted on the sign. It’s shadow offers a small respite from the sun but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to feeling of being baked alive, despite it being a regular daydream of his during Gralea’s harsh winter months.

“Hey there! Y’all sure know how to keep a girl waitin’! Make it okay?” a cheerful girl in a bright yellow mechanic’s jacket calls from across the yard. 

Tugging her trucker’s hat snug over her blonde curls, she lengthens her strides to meet them. She’s dressed down to beat the heat, each stride clinking softly from where a tool belt is strapped securely to her waist. There’s a spring in her step and a brilliant smile on her face, everything about her so unabashedly _alive_. It’s mesmerizing. 

"Congrats on your weddin’.”

“Not hitched yet, Cindy,” Noctis laughs and Cindy grins, moving to open the hood of the car.

“Oh wow,” she says, staring down at the glowing alternator. “Did ya use magic to make it last all the way here? Genius!”

“I wasn’t the one who figured it out and put it all together,” he says, gesturing over at Prompto where he’s doing his best to duck behind the others. He freezes in the spotlight of her gaze.

“Well, it’s nice to meet a fellow gearhead,” she says kindly and Prompto blushes, fingers fidgeting. She gestures to the others and adds, “Good luck with these ones.”

It startles a laugh out of him and she grins in satisfaction, peering under the hood. “Well, it’s gonna take a minute to swap in a new one. If you guys need a hunt to compensate, Takka’s got some real nasty ones today.”

“Our thanks, we’ll be sure to check in,” Ignis says and they all head towards the circular building on the end, Noctis and Gladiolus taking the lead.

Sidling up beside Ignis, Prompto quietly asks, “Hunts?”

“Yes. Often we take on bounties for certain beasts bothering the locals to fund our excursions,” Ignis explains patiently.

Prompto frowns. “Isn’t the citadel funding the tour?”

“For the most part, but when extra expenses crop up, we prefer to handle them ourselves rather than waste money which would see better use for the people of Insomnia." 

Which... makes sense. Well, it does and it doesn’t. What Prompto doesn’t understand is _why_. Other diplomats he knows wouldn’t think twice about a little splurging. It’s… admirable. 

As Prompto continues to mull it over, Ignis continues, “It would probably be for the best if you wait for us here.”

“No!” he shouts, loud enough that Noctis and Gladiolus both stop in their tracks. 

Already Gladiolus is tensed to spring into action so Prompto steps a pace back in a show of compliance. Ignis’ eyebrows are up near his hairline and Prompto flushes red, staring hard at the ground as he backtracks. “I mean, I… I want to help you. I’m – I’m good with a gun, I want…” he trails off, the others conversing through indecipherable glances, before finishing decidedly. “I want to help. Please.” 

The silent conversation drags out until Noctis rolls his eyes and steps right up into Prompto’s space, holding out his hand as a gun materializes out of thin air in a shower of increasingly familiar blue sparks. This time Prompto almost restrains his flinch… almost.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to him.

“Noctis…” says Ignis lowly, but Noctis merely shakes his head and holds the gun out closer.

It feels like a test. Prompto hesitates, eyes flickering between the tense line of Ignis’ back and Gladiolus’ stormy expression before he takes the familiar weight in hand and prays it’s the right choice. 

No one moves and Gladiolus eyes him warily. “Stay out of the way and don’t try anything," he says and they stare at each other before he pushes Noctis ahead of him into the building. 

Ignis lingers a little behind, watching Prompto closely as he pivots the gun in his palms, running quickly through his training – flicking the safety off and on again before checking the chamber for bullets. He traces his fingers over the name engraved in looping script along the side and mouths _Quicksilver_. When Ignis makes an impatient noise, he double checks the safety, shoves it into the thigh pocket of his pants, and follows him.

The cold air inside the building slips over his skin like a balm and he sighs in relief. It’s a strange little restaurant, he realizes, all shiny chrome and plastic vinyl seats with some sort of open kitchen behind a curved bar straight ahead. The delectable smell of something grilling fills the air and Prompto’s ignores his rumbling stomach in lieu of satisfying his curiosity, stepping forward to run his fingers over the back of one of the booths. 

A few patrons are gathered around tables eating and conversing, soft music playing from a small radio sitting on the counter Gladiolus and Noctis are both leaning against, deep conversation with a bald, older man in a chef’s apron who must be the 'Takka' who was mentioned. Ignis moves to join them but Prompto hangs back, scanning an ad on the wall for the newest burger dish with wide eyes. He’s not entirely sure what it is, nothing he’s eaten back home has looked like that, but the picture is so vivid he feels as if he could reach out and pull it off the page to eat right then and there. 

He perks up slightly when across the din he hears mention of a troubling pack of reapertails. The word is familiar - probably something from his creatures of Eos books - and it’s decidedly less pleasant. He watches from the corner of his eye as the others deliberate over a selection of yellowing bounty papers, and snaps his head back when Noctis hops off his stool to make his way over to him.

“Looks good huh? Maybe we can convince Iggy to let us have a couple when we get back.” It’s quiet, both of them staring straight ahead with all the words still need to be said stuck somewhere in their throats. 

Noctis’ eyes slide over to look at him, mouth opening to speak, but he stops and reaches out. Startled, Prompto pulls back and Noctis redirects the gesture to tap at his own cheek. “You’ve got some grease here,” he says and points over his shoulder. “There’s a bathroom over there if you wanted to clean up at all.”

“Oh,” says Prompto, hand flying up to his face. 

All of a sudden he’s ridiculously self-conscious of how much of a mess he must be after being stuck under the hood of a car in the desert most of the morning. He quickly pardons himself in the direction of the bathroom, scrubbing at his cheeks until he can’t tell if they’re red from the friction or his own embarrassment. The cool water on his skin feels like heaven after the scorching sunlight and he cups his hands to drink deeply.

He looks into the mirror and feels infinitely better – even if his freckles are coming out in force from all the sun he’s been getting. So far the trip has been all right, he hasn’t stepped on any toes too hard or made too much of an embarrassment out of himself, and his pressing worries are out of reach… for now. He’ll take what he can get.

Double checking his pocket for the gun, Prompto exits the bathroom and runs directly into Ignis. It’s only then he realizes how tall he is and wonders if it's some sort of requirement to be a retainer for the prince in Lucis. It’s almost enviable how put together he still is, clothing pristine and impeccable hairstyle not flattened at all in the heat, the ash blonde strands dark in the fluorescent lighting. He stares down at Prompto searchingly before holding out a bottle of sunscreen. 

“Here, you may want to apply this before we set out,” he says and Prompto hesitates, thinking how strange it is that Ignis took his fair skin into account. He’s probably thinking strategically – after all it wouldn’t do to show up to his engagement address as red as his shirt, so he murmurs a thank you and accepts the bottle, ducking around him to set the bottle on an empty table. 

The smell of it threatens to bring back memories of long days spent under the sun, but he stuffs them down as quickly as he can, taking care to completely cover his arms, neck, and face. A sunburn hasn’t been a worry of his for a long time, but the methodical process of protecting his skin is a welcome distraction. When he’s finished, he hands the bottle back to Ignis and they head outside to join the others.

The sun has only climbed higher in the sky, beating down with little relief as the shadows curl into themselves. Sweat drips down at the edges of Prompto’s forehead and pools in the hollow of his collarbones despite the time he’d taken to refresh and it’s almost worse after knowing the comfort of the air conditioning. He remembers Gladiolus’ earlier dig about his clothes and is endlessly thankful he’d forgone the gaudy layers of his princely attire for a more functional set. 

“Looks like they like to hang around over in that direction,” says Gladiolus, tapping the bounty and pointing out behind the outpost. Prompto catches a glimpse of the drawing on the paper and swallows dryly. They can’t look _that_ horrible in person, can they?

They set out, Prompto clambering across the uneven terrain as they go, trying to find his footing. The others fair better, their feet navigating to smooth spots with practiced ease. Ignis lingers behind with him, keeping an eye out as they go. Prompto pretends it’s for his own benefit and not to make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb. 

Already his heart rate picks up a notch, not entirely sure what to expect. He’s fought before in training and sparring, sure, but not in a live-time battle - not when split-second decisions could cost something so much more than a few bruises. He meant what he said though, he wants to help where he can. He refuses to be a burden on this tour.

The only sound is the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel as they hike over the next slope. He spots a flicker of black, but the sun glints off the yellow of the dirt and hits him square in the eyes so brightly he has to bring a hand up to shield them to squint. There. It's clearer now - jerky movements of black, glinting tails curving down behind the rise in a spiral - and if he strains his ears he picks up the faint sound of many legs skittering over sand. 

They’re terrifying, even from this distance, and the hair rises on the back of his neck. It’ll be okay, he thinks, glancing at the others. It’s obviously not their first time hunting terrifying bugs.

Noctis pulls a sword out of thin air and hurls it meters away towards their targets and Prompto gasps as he disintegrates before his eyes. It’s different than the way Nyx warped - more fluid somehow. Although he tries his hardest not to blink, it’s like there’s a glitch in his mind refusing to take in the jump of magic - one second Noctis is there and the next he’s gone.

The clash of metal striking its target rings through the air as Noctis knocks one of the giant scorpion creatures aside and charges at another. Gladiolus is right after him, sweeping large arcs with a greatsword pulled from the same magical ether to knock back the ones skittering in close behind and another gives off an angry hiss over from where Ignis has darted in, stabbing quickly with a pair of daggers before leaping away with astonishing grace. 

Prompto stays rooted to the same spot over the rise as he watches them fight like nothing he’s seen before. They move together seamlessly, as if communicating on a whole separate wavelength as they weave in and around each other in the fray of battle, occasionally linking together for a devastating double strike. 

Realizing he’s being useless again, Prompto watches as Noctis’ sword cuts another one down before breaking into action, hands shaking as he pulls the gun out and races to catch up. He stays out of the skirmish as best he can, feeling like a loose cog bouncing around freely in an otherwise well oiled machine. Circling around the outskirts, he fiddles with the gun and keeps a wary eye on the deadly snap of the creature’s tails. 

The others have a pretty solid handle on things but he spots an opening and fires a couple shots in-between them, aiming for the soft underbellies of the reapertails’ armored backs. Now with his foot in the door, Prompto works on stitching himself as best he can into the fabric of their movement. The gun fits snugly in his hand, a familiar extension of his body and his skill comes rushing back to him as if it’d never left. 

It’s hard to keep track of all the bugs – they scuttle around them, and every time one falls, Prompto swears two more take its place. More than once they get too close, corner him until he’s shooting his way out and the swipe of their tails pass his face by an inch. There’s no room for thought or error, so he carries on, edging back out and helping where he can.

He’s not sure how long they’re out there, but when it winds down the shadows are coming back to the land. Prompto’s focused on trying to gun down a straggler outside the main fight when across the fray he hears Gladiolus shout in alarm. His instincts kick in, quickly shooting the reapertail ahead of him with deadly accuracy before whirling around to see another sneaking up in Noctis' blind spot and fear freezes in his veins.

Noctis isn’t going to turn around in time.

Everything slows. Terror rising in his throat as each second ticking by feels like its own eternity. He only just got Noctis back, he isn’t going to lose him again. He _can’t_ , not like this. Heart thudding wildly, Prompto sets his jaw and breathes in deep, his mind flipping through the memories he keeps locked down so tight, rushing by so quickly he gets dizzy - the boy he knew in Tenebrae and the one he’s growing to know today overlapping so clearly; Noctis on the picnic blanket laughing with Luna and then in the front hall surprised to see him, reaching out in the garden, dancing together in a whirl of colors, on the roof holding his hand, watching fondly as Prompto stretched in the fresh air of a car racing over the water. Here, now. 

The metal of the gun sits solidly in his hand and he pulls the trigger, the sharp bang ringing in his ears as he snaps back to real time, watching it fly through the air and take the reapertail down in one. The fighting stops, everyone standing still in the aftermath, damp with exertion. 

All their weapons fade away in a flash, save his gun, and the rush slams into Prompto like a freight train. He folds, dropping his hands to his knees under the force of it and pants sharply. That was too close. Vaguely he registers the others rushing to Noctis’ side, a frenzie of concern and overwhelming fear of what could have been. Relief comes not long after, flooding through him and easing the shakes as Noctis stares at him in shock. 

“Thanks,” he says breathlessly and Prompto nods shakily, feeling like the desert itself is stuck to his tongue. He’s okay, safe and alive. 

On either side of him, Gladiolus and Ignis stare blatantly and Prompto wonders if they’re thinking about how easily he could’ve ended it right there; could’ve shot the slightest inch to the side and hit Noctis – or better yet, have let the creature get him and be done with it all without a drop of blood on his hands. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

“Nice shot,” Gladiolus says, though it’s a little forced.

Prompto blinks. “Uh, thank you, Gladiolus.” 

There’s a beat of silence and Prompto jolts at the resounding laughter bursts from him. “Just Gladio is fine,” he corrects, still laughing, though it has a tinge of hysteria at the tailend. 

Worried, Prompto looks back at Noctis for a hint, but he only grins widely as he's led away by Ignis, who's fairly amused at the whole exchange himself. Gladiolus – no, Gladio, he corrects – follows and Prompto trails along after them, wondering whether to count it as a win or not.

With the hunt said and done they take their time, the sun burning hot over the distant ridge as it stretches their shadows tall and bathes the landscape in a soft gold. Staring is easier now that Prompto’s found his footing and time passes faster as he gets lost in the vast stretch of wilderness. It’s astoundingly beautiful, and he wishes he had time to turn over every rock and climb every dip and crest.

At some point he realizes he’s still clutching the gun, safety clicked on, and breaks into a light jog to pull up alongside Gladio, speed walking to keep pace with his long legs. “Here, thank you for letting me borrow it,” he says, holding the gun out to him.

Gladio’s eyebrows furrow and he snorts. “I don’t want that.”

“I –,” Prompto starts, tripping over a rock. “Uh, thank you. Will I need more bullets?”

“You won’t,” Ignis says. “All our weapons are provided for by the ether of the crystal’s magic. They come when we call and replenish automatically and upgrades are available if you manage to find the right parts.” He summons a dagger and wills it away again in demonstration as Prompto watches, enraptured.

“Which reminds me.” Noctis whirls around to intercept him, everyone halting as he grabs Prompto’s hand, the one still holding the gun, and closes his eyes.

Prompto fights the flush rising in his cheeks because Noctis is holding his hand _again_ , like on the roof in Insomnia, but this time Ignis and Gladio are watching them intently and it feels more awkward than reassuring. There’s a firm tug in his gut, so strong he almost falls over and a strangled noise catches in his throat as the the gun shatters before his eyes – and then it’s over. It’s gone; no trace it had ever been in his grip. 

He stares in shock at his empty hand, Noctis watching him with soft eyes and a small smile. “Now try and call it back.”

The others make it look easy. 

He thinks about the weapon, tries to picture it appearing in his hand, but nothing happens. When he looks to Noctis all he gets is an encouraging smile, so he tries again. Focusing harder, he thinks back to the fight and the solid weight of the gun in his hand; how it’d been a part of him. He imagines it never left. 

There’s a tug in his stomach again, not as hard this time, and the gun materializes, dropping firmly into his grip. Magic thrums wildly through his veins and he shudders at the feel of it, at the power that comes from being connected to something _bigger_.

He lets the weapon fall away again and Noctis grins up at him proudly. “There, now you can call it whenever we get into trouble. There shouldn’t be a lot, but,” he shrugs, “you never know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gladio chimes in, “just don’t go calling for it all haphazardly and accidentally shoot someone.” 

There’s a threat in his words, a lingering beat around the word ‘accidentally’ that speaks of accusation and Prompto nods his head so hard he makes himself dizzy. He knows he’s far from having earned anything resembling trust, but if anything, _he’s_ the one who should be worried – three against one in unknown territory would hardly be a fair fight.

By the time they make it back to Hammerhead, the sun has settled low, barely peeking out over the distant bluffs and burning the sky scarlet red. They still have a while to go on the road, so Ignis ducks into the diner to make good on the bounty. 

Cindy is there waiting for them next to a gleaming Regalia, hands on her hips. “There y’all are! Well, everythin’s all fixed up nice and easy. Should be set for the road, and we cleaned her up so she’ll be the prettiest one on it too.” She grins at them, patting the hood fondly.

“Great job as always,” says Gladio whistling appreciatively. “Iggy will be out with the money soon. Guess we should stock up.” He and Noctis wander back in the direction of the store, but Prompto hovers awkwardly next to the car. It’s not as if he has any idea what supplies they’ll need for the trip ahead, he’d only get in the way. 

When he realizes Prompto’s not following, Noctis shoots a confused glance over his shoulder but then Gladio is there, slinging an arm around him to guide him through the doors.

“So, you got a name, freckles?” asks Cindy cheerfully, wiping down the windshield again. Prompto shifts his weight from foot to foot and swipes a hand at his nose self-consciously.

“Prompto,” he answers shyly, staring at a smudge of grease across her cheekbone, similar to the one he’d sported earlier. 

While he admits she is very, _very_ pretty, it’s mostly her confidence that's intimidating – she seems so sure of who she is and her place in everything. He thinks it would be nice to know what that feels like for once.

“Well, it sure is nice to officially meet you, Prince Prompto,” she says, beaming as she crosses her arms and gives him a once over. “Not to cause any offense, but you don’t seem much like the princely type.”

She’s not wrong. Without the façade of the Empire’s smoke and mirrors he agrees he's pretty ordinary – especially when he’s traveling with three men so handsome and regal they turn heads no matter what they’re wearing, or in Gladio’s case, not wearing. Not to mention he’s terrible at court politics and good at… well nothing a prince should know in the first place. It’s not like his talents with cars and photography got him to where he is.

“Not that it’s a bad thing of course. Noctis is a lucky man,” she teases, and he stutters and blushes down to the roots on his hair.

A hand drops onto his shoulder and he jumps, but it’s only Ignis, who pats him a few times reassuringly before moving to pay out a stack of bills into Cindy’s waiting hands. The touch lingers on Prompto’s skin longer than it should. 

“This should cover the repairs. Thank you for your services, we deeply appreciate it.”

She tips her hat at him and says, “Thank ya kindly. If she ever needs a tune up, don’t be afraid to bring her on in!” and with that she’s off, back into the garage whistling an upbeat tune. Prompto wanes under Ignis’ amused stare, but follows him when he heads back across the yard to a small seating area outside the restaurant. 

Unsure of what to do, he settles onto the edge of one of the chairs set up outside and tenses when Ignis follows suit. They sit in silence, watching each other from the corners of their eyes and listening to the growing evening sounds of the desert. “Will we be staying here for the night? It’s getting dark.”

Ignis cracks an eye open from where he’s settled back in his chair and checks the setting sun. “We have a while yet until daylight’s gone and Galdin Quay is not so far from here. After we eat, we should be able to make it around nightfall.”

“Okay.” It’s a relief to know they won’t be out after dark. 

Silence settles between them again and he wishes Noctis and Gladio would get back soon, needs their banter to cover the awkwardness of his presence brings. Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait too long before they return, toting armfuls of goodies. 

Settling into the seat next to him, Noctis spills several colorful packages onto the table before leaning over to hands Ignis a can. Prompto catches the minuscule uptick of surprised delight in his brows before he cracks it open and takes a long pull. He pointedly looks away from the smooth slide of Ignis’ throat as he drinks deeply.

Noctis grins conspiratorially as he leans over and stage whispers, “Ebony. We don’t know how he can stand the taste. We think it might be the price he paid for his gift with cooking.”

“Or perhaps your palate is not refined enough for it,” Ignis scoffs.

“Refined, yeah, that’s the word." Gladio grins as he passes out some square boxes which smell heavenly. Ignis rolls his eyes but accepts the peace offering and Prompto watches the exchange in fascination. 

The carefree teasing feels foreign to him. In Niflheim, any insults sent his way had always been said with the sole intent to dig and burrow under his skin like poison in his veins.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Noctis passes him a box of his own. “Here told ya I’d get you one.” 

Confused, Prompto opens it to see the meal from the poster inside the restaurant and his mouth waters. He digs in, lost in the fresh burger warming his fingers. He’s never tasted anything so good before in his life – or if he has, he’s long forgotten it. He wants to eat it slow and linger over every bite, but it’s hard to pace himself and by the time he manages to slow down, he’s halfway through it. 

In an effort to take his time, he tunes back into the conversation in time to catch Gladio laughing as he says to Noctis, “You’re one to talk about a resting stoic face, you always have that broody look goin’ for ya – yeah! That’s it, that’s the one, right there.” 

Slumping down in his seat, Noctis grumbles about traitors and Prompto can’t hold back his giggles.

The air has cooled off now, the sun dipping behind the ridge to paint a stunning display of colors, a refreshing breeze blowing through his hair. As he finishes his burger, Prompto settles back, feeling full and completely sated as his eyes begin to droop. The anxious ball of nerves settled in his chest is nothing new, but the light shimmery feeling tucked in next to it is. It simmers warm and bright inside him and with every breath it expands a little more. 

And yeah, he decides, this trip won’t be so bad, if it means he gets to feel like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell, I'm very bitter about my alternator that gave out in April last year ahahah. Thank you all so much for reading!!! It's your response that makes this all worth it, I'm glad everyone is enjoying it so far! We're over 200 kudos now ????? You guys are fantastic, seriously thank you! <3 If you liked this chapter, tell me your favorite parts down below!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	6. Tired Thoughts Don't Take Vacations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The grip on his arm is on the verge of too tight, but Prompto’s face is incredibly blank, a polite smile on his lips Noctis recognizes from his own mask for the public. He brings up his other hand to touch Prompto’s, hoping it’s enough of a comfort as they step out before the crowd._
> 
> They arrive in Galdin Quay, bringing about some late night conversations and a rather thrilling start to the engagement party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello everyone~ I come bearing gifts! with some more fantastic art by pigeon-princess over [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/170330478587/unsure-of-all-the-sudden-attention-prompto)!! PLEASE go look at this STUNNING portrayal of one of the scenes in this chapter and the gorgeous outfit she designed!! As always a HUGE thank you to her. We may have started out in this AU idea separately, but it's our shared universe now <3 So many chapters and scenes have been influenced by her ideas and our conversations, so if you love this story be sure to take a second to go send her a nice message saying so over on tumblr <33 
> 
> Big thank you to my best friend/beta Juli, number one cheerleader Tera, and everyone who's supported me on this journey so far! I seriously read over the comments all the time ;; they make me so happy! And we've now passed 300 kudos????? All my love to you <3
> 
> Chapter title is from Rare by Waterparks off their new album that's FIRE. This entire chapter was edited to the songs on repeat and I highly recommend it! You can check it out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

When the sun slips behind the ridge, Noctis settles low in his seat, happy to close his eyes against the breeze. He’d almost forgotten how hot Leide could get during the day, but then again, the last time they’d been out this way they’d spent it mostly underground. 

As they drive past the chain link fences and rusted pipes of the abandoned Balouve Mines, he winces slightly at the reel of memories it brings back - hours spent scouring the dark shafts under the mountains, slipping on the ridge and almost tumbling several stories to the ground; a pang of guilt for the shoulder that still pains Ignis from time to time. Ironically enough, when they’d finally stumbled upon the royal tomb tucked securely away underneath it all he’d wanted was nothing more than to feel the broiling sunlight on his skin again. It’s easier to miss something when it’s gone, after all.

Before he’s given too much time to reminisce, they pass the deserted tunnels and the rocks of the hills crowd up close around them, forming into a canyon which will soon open up to the sprawling bay of Galdin Quay. He knows they’re close when ocean salt dampens the wind tousling his hair, soothing away the oppressive heat of the desert, and excitement thrums low in his chest. He’s always likes visiting the little resort town - quiet and calm and open; everything Insomnia isn’t - though he wishes they were here under better circumstances. Namely fishing.

The landscape is washed in shadows now, enough to where Ignis has to switch the headlights on, but above them colors streak the sky in a gradient display. Across the seat, Gladio has put his book away in favor of crossing his arms and watching Prompto in the waning light of dusk. 

It’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking, but Noctis doesn’t regret what he did. Prompto had more than proved capable of handling himself today, in battle and with the whole car ordeal, too. Without his help they wouldn’t have made it far, but then again, without him they wouldn’t be out here in the first place either.

Absently, Noctis’ gaze wanders over to where Prompto’s leaning against the door again, arm trailing lazily along the air currents stirring in their wake. There’s something different in the air about him than there was in the citadel - he seems more relaxed, almost serene, and his wide-eyed wonder towards everything Noctis takes as common place is refreshing. It’s easy to forget how beautiful everything is when you’ve grown used to it.

But still, no matter how many times the rock around them parts and the wide expanse of water rolls out, it never fails to steal his breath away. They only catch glimpses of the shore before it disappears to peek out from in between the buildings of Galdin’s main street, but when they turn onto the road winding down to the shore the view opens up before them, water and sky stretching out as far as the eye can see; brilliant purple and pink highlights bending low to kiss the reflecting horizon goodnight. 

Most of Galdin’s populace is clustered at the top of the hillside - a sleepy town full of restaurants and shops selling touristy trinkets with apartments above them, as well as private beach houses and quaint bungalows scattered along the surrounding slopes. The pearl of Lucis’ southeastern coast itself sits right off the beach, a large hotel only a few stories high to preserve the picturesque skyline with a boardwalk extending out over the water to where the event center and harbor are propped up in the bay on wooden stilts. To the east is Angelgard, the sculpted island curving up towards the heavens like wings in the dying light. 

They’ve caught up to the sun again, still continuing its timely descent to the west, and although it’s later in the evening people are out enjoying the perfect weather along the stretch of beach. Palm trees loom overhead, swaying gently as Ignis navigates the car through the hairpin turns winding down the hillside.

It’s hard to contain a smile when Prompto leans his elbows against the side of the car, stretching out so far in his eagerness Noctis is afraid he may fall out. Gladio must be thinking along the same lines because he doesn’t hesitate to hook a hand in the back of his shirt to pull him back into the safe confines of his seat.

“Settle down. We’ll be there soon and then you can look all you want without breaking your neck," he says and Prompto smiles sheepishly, sitting as far on the edge of his seat as he can without reprimand. 

When the car is backed into a parking spot, Noctis stumbles to get out as fast as he can to stretch the cramps in his legs and laughs when Prompto almost falls exiting the car in his excitement. 

“Will we be taking a boat out of here after the event?” he asks, gawking at the waterfront as Gladio pulls his bag out of the truck and passes it over. Prompto takes it distractedly. 

“Not this time,” says Ignis. “There’s a boat docked at a private port out west we’ll be taking when we venture overseas. Cindy’s grandfather has kindly agreed to fix it up for us.” 

He’s careful in his answer not to reveal too much and Noctis bites his tongue as a sinking feeling curls in the pit of his stomach. He’d gotten so caught up in the excitement of the day he’d almost forgotten Prompto is not _with_ them, not in the ways that matter.

They head for the wooden boardwalk stretching towards the resort over the water instead of the beach hotel, as Ignis says, “We’ll be meeting up with him after we stop in Lestallum for the tour and attend to a few, ah, personal matters.” 

It had been a stroke of genius on to have the schedule built with leniency around the tour dates, but Noctis expected nothing less from Ignis. In the official plans, the open sections of time had been set aside in advance to account for traveling and its unpredictable nature. This way, he’d reasoned, they’ll be prepared for any emergency or delay – or say, if they find hints of another royal tomb. 

What Niflheim doesn’t know won’t hurt them. Well, it won’t if things in Gralea go smoothly, but in case they don’t he’d rather be as prepared as possible. Noctis isn’t sure how they’ll go about things with Prompto tagging along for the ride, but they’ll cross that bridge if they ever reach it.

Lanterns light the way as they go, wood creaking under their feet and waves lapping rhythmically at the support beams. A few children dart around in a game of tag before taking off down the planks leading to the beach followed closely by their parents leaving the resort restaurant. 

It’s as luxurious as Noctis remembers - thatch-inspired roof vaulted over an open-air lobby full of clean lines and white curtains fluttering in the light breeze. The floor is split between a few short levels and people are still mingling in the cool night air between the dining tables, the circular counter of the open-air kitchen, and a couple of round, cushioned conversation benches which bookend the stairs descending to the dock at the back. 

Word of their arrival to spreads like wildfire, the conversational din quieting as more and more people catch on to who has arrived. As opposed to the restrained manners of court life, the crowd’s reactions are unrestrained and many stare with open curiosity or blatant frowns and furrowed brows. 

These are the people who occupy the kingdom, from the farmers and fishers to the business people and vacation staff, and their opinions are the most important. Noctis quickly follows Ignis, who approaches the hotel staff, and Prompto shuffles in closer behind him, clutching his bag nervously to his chest. 

Though they’ve stayed in Galdin a few times prior, it was never in one of the few rooms the Quay has prepared to offer a closer view of the water to those with expensive tastes. Usually, they prefer to take up residence in the hotel on the beach to save on funds, but this time both the citadel and Niflheim have afforded an allowance to pay the way for rooms on event nights. Noctis is glad for it, especially since the resort itself is on the pricey side.

Their suite is a modest room with two double beds against one wall with a plush couch and armchair opposite with a door leading to the ensuite, but the selling point is without a doubt the entire far side of the wall entirely made of glass windows. It showcases the wide expanse of the bay that stretches out towards the hooked rock of Anglegard in the distance reaching towards the sky now full of twinkling lights beyond the resorts torches. Noctis can’t help but watch in amusement as Prompto immediately presses close against the glass.

“We’d best get some rest, tomorrow is a long day. First will be the introductions before brunch, followed by festivities all day,” says Ignis as Gladio begins to pull the rest of their bags from the armiger to set on the beds.

Though the very basis of this tour is to perform the same event over and over, in a different location with a different audience, it doesn’t make it easier for Noctis to prepare for. His persona for the crowds has become more refined with practice over the years, but every time he has to slip into it, he feels further and further from himself. He wonders if there will even be time to enjoy the beach after all the ‘festivities’. Resigned, he grabs his bag and sets it on the bed closest to the window to dig around in for his toothbrush and sleep clothes.

“Um…” says Prompto, who's dragged himself from the window to face him. He shifts his bag and quietly asks, “Are we sharing?"

Exchanging a glance with the others, Noctis scratches at his nape. 

“Usually. I didn’t even think… Would you be more comfortable sharing with one of the others? Or I could sleep on the couch? I don’t mind, I can sleep anywhere,” he rambles, wishing someone would stop him, but he’s not lying; he’d be perfectly happy to do so if it means Prompto will be more at ease. He feels kind of bad for assuming - just because he’s used to sharing doesn’t mean Prompto is.

“Absolutely not, you both need your rest for tomorrow,” says Ignis sternly. “If anyone is taking up residence on the couch, it’ll be – “

“No! No, it’s fine. I just... wasn’t sure,” says Prompto and quickly moves to set his things on the far side of the bed Noctis has claimed. His cheeks are dark, even in the low lighting, but he merely ducks his head to rummage through his own bag before pulling some clothes out and slipping into the bathroom.

As soon as the door shuts, Gladio opens his mouth to speak but he’s cut off with a shake of Ignis’ head and a low, “Not now.” They move to undress and Noctis frowns. He lets it go for now, aware of Prompto on the other side of the door. 

They’re given plenty of time to change before he comes out, avoiding their gazes as he packs his things again and slips under the sheets. He’s wearing something similar to the night on the roof, loose and light, and the bracelet still clasped firmly about his wrist. It can’t be comfortable to sleep in, but Prompto makes no move to take it off. The rest of them take their turns with the bathroom before settling in for the night, soft good nights passing around before the light is clicked off and the room descends into silence. 

For once, Noctis is not the first to drift off. He distinctly recognizes Gladio’s breathing deepen and although there’s never any clear indication of when Ignis follows, enough time passes for the moonlight shifts across the water outside the window that it’s safe to assume he’s also drifted off for the night.

Staring at the ceiling, Noctis runs over the course of the day’s events in his mind. He feels sleepy and sated from their dinner and the desert heat that saps the energy from him easily, but it’s hard to quiet his mind with the palpable strain between him and Prompto. Noctis knows he’s awake by how tense he feels across the sheets, stiff as a board and pressed as close to the edge of the mattress as possible, and when he shifts Prompto jolts at the noise. Giving up hope to the fact that this won’t resolve on its own, Noctis rolls over onto his side to face him and tucks his hands up under the pillow.

It’s dark, but he can still trace the slope of Prompto’s nose and the curve of his chin, hair almost white in the filtered moonlight. His features are softened around the edges in the shadows as he blinks, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” he whispers, and Prompto goes rigid. “Are you awake?” 

It’s an opportunity for escape if Prompto wants - to close his eyes and pretend he’s slipped away though they both know he hasn’t. 

He doesn’t take it, instead rolling over to mirror Noctis, fists curling in the sheets under his chin. “Yeah."

Noctis studies him - the soft brush of hair against his cheeks and the tired bags under his eyes. He needs his rest before tomorrow – that much is painfully obvious. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” 

There’s a beat of silence, only the whisper of Prompto’s legs fidgeting under the covers. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “I… it’s been a long time since I last slept with someone else in the room.” 

It's quiet as their eyes meet across the folds of fabric separating them. 

“Thank you," says Noctis, "for saving me," and Prompto shrugs a shoulder, bashfully tucking his face half into the pillow. “And with the car too. It was amazing, how did you know all that?”

Closing his eyes, Prompto makes a thoughtful noise and rolls onto his stomach with his arms crossed under the pillow, head still facing him, and the atmosphere eases a touch. 

“When I was younger, I had a lot of time to myself in-between my tutors’ lessons. I sorta… found entertainment in taking things apart and putting them back together again,” he says and Noctis wonders if he’s picturing any memories in particular. “Then I never stopped. I read a lot too – manuals, guides – anything I can get my hands on.”

“Guess that hasn’t changed much, has it?” jokes Noctis, thinking back to the days they’d spent curled up together as Luna read the next chapter of the book they were on. It was always Prompto who'd beg for more, toting a stack of borrowed books home only to bring them back the next day to ask for new ones. 

Prompto opens his eyes again, glassy in the shadows, but he laughs lightly. “No, I guess it hasn’t.” 

The silence between them settles and before long Prompto’s eyes close and his body relaxes into the mattress. Before long, his breathing evens out and Noctis is content to trace the lines of his face over and over again to try and commit them to memory, before finally falling into the arms of sleep.

He wakes up once during the night - again something almost unheard of - and finds they’ve moved in their sleep. There’s an arm heavy around his middle and Prompto's forehead pressed firmly against Noctis’ chest, limbs sprawled out across the mattress and fingers twitching. His mouth is slack and his skin is sleep-warm, still smelling faintly of grease and sun, and Noctis carefully tugs the sheets up closer around them and tries his best not to move.

It’s not new for him to wake up to someone else nearby in bed, but this feels different. Maybe it’s the knowledge that they’re technically _engaged_ and already cuddled up close on their first night out of Insomnia. 

Or maybe it’s because this is Prompto, who he’s only begun to reconnect with. Back in Tenebrae he'd been just as much of a clingy sleeper whenever they’d all settle in for a nap in the shade of the trees. 

Once, Luna had snuck him in to visit on one of Noctis’ bad days - the ones where even getting out of bed seemed an impossible feat. When they’ appeared at the door to Noctis’ bedroom, Prompto had been a deathly shade of white - no doubt from all the spindly bridges and bottomless mist around the skinny precipice Fenestala Manor was situated atop - but he wasted no time climbing in bed next to him. 

They’d all spent the day in his room, chatting and teaching each other silly card games from their various homes. When Luna had brought out a book again later on, it wasn’t long before Noctis drifted off, still weak from the strain of his injury. He’d woken up in a similar situation to now, Prompto barely awake and wrapped about him like an octopus, reluctant to leave when Luna told him it was time to go.

The nostalgia hits him square in the chest and he tugs Prompto closer, pausing when he shifts. Things are so different now and yet so strikingly the same and Noctis can’t help but wonder what happened in all those years they were apart. Prompto had left so suddenly and without any sort of goodbye, it's unnerving to have him show up now in such a split duality of the person he once was. 

Noctis smooths his hand down Prompto’s back and thinks of the Chancellor’s lingering hands. It isn’t a nice thought, and he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls Prompto closer. It takes him a long time to find sleep again.

He’s tired when he wakes, alone in bed and cranky as Ignis rolls him out and into motion before any sort of reasonable hour. Already Gladio and Prompto are munching on a breakfast spread which must’ve been brought in recently, oatmeal still steaming, and he makes for the meats and cheeses, only managing to snag a couple before Ignis ushers him off for a shower. He takes his time, but makes sure not to linger, knowing from experience if he takes too long neither Ignis nor Gladio have any problem marching in there to cut the water. The heat sinks deep into his tense muscles as the water rinses away the stress of yesterday down the drain.

Hunger’s still edging at his stomach so he finishes up, drying off and eyeing the pile of fancy, pressed clothes Ignis has stacked on the counter with disdain. He slips them on quickly and styles his hair into something manageable before heading out, making a beeline for the breakfast. 

By one of the beds, Gladio shrugs off his jacket as he pulls a slightly wrinkled dress shirt from a bag and Ignis… well Ignis is already put together like a damn aristocrat all the time anyway. 

When the bathroom door shuts behind Prompto with a click, all the memories of the night before tumble into Noctis' memory, his cheeks flushing as he wonders if Prompto woke up still wrapped around him. He channels all his embarrassment into knotting his tie, grumbling as he tries to loop the sleek fabric into a presentable style until Ignis knocks his hands aside to redo his sloppy work. At this point even Noctis can’t tell if he does it on purpose or not. Either way his tie always gets tied in the end.

“There,” says Ignis, and dusts his hands over Noctis’ shoulders to smooth the wrinkles.

Leaning into the touch, Noctis follows the touch in for a hug, murmuring a quiet, “Thanks, Iggy,” into his shoulder. Ignis indulges him, but when the shower starts up he pulls away.

“Apologies Noct,” he says, eyes darting to the bathroom door. “You know we can’t be seen-”

“Until everything is finalized, I know, I know." He frowns over at Gladio who's sat on the edge of the bed, watching them closely. “Not as if everyone doesn’t know already.”

“Be that as it may, it’s always best to wait until the political marriage is set in stone before such relations are allowed to come forth. Above all, you’ll still need to speak with Prompto when the time comes, in the case that everything works out for the better.”

Noctis sighs and snags more from the food platters, choosing to stand to avoid the reprimand he’ll get for wrinkling his slacks. “I know,” he says and hates it on principle. 

It hasn't been uncommon for rulers locked into political marriages to have lovers on the side, with the approval of the spouse of course, but it’s usually after everything is said and done and this treaty is such a tangled mess already. It makes Noctis’ head hurt if he thinks about too long, trying to predict the best way to unravel the strings without having to cut them. 

There's a shift in the air as Gladio and Ignis share a silent conversation entirely through facial expressions. 

“What?” Noctis asks warily, and quickly swallows the rest of his bite. 

Gladio’s got his ‘I’m upset about something either really important or really dumb’ eyebrows on and Ignis has crossed his arms preemptively, which never bodes well.

“All that being said,” says Ignis, “Noctis, it’s imperative you recognize both you and Prompto have grown up since your time together and be ready to face the implications of such. We have no idea what the empire is planning or what Prompto’s true intentions are.”

Gladio sucks in a sharp breath, struggling to keep his voice low over the sound of running water in the next room. “And what the _hell_ were you thinking yesterday? Connecting him to the armiger – giving him a _gun?_ I swear, it’s almost like you were born without an ounce of self-preservation!”

“It was foolish,” says Ignis, and the shame bubbles hot in Noctis’ stomach. He sets his muffin down, appetite gone, and sticks his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching defensively as he studies them both with hard eyes.

“Nothing. Happened.” he says and hates that they’re right. 

They’re ganging up on him, which is unfair, but nothing they’re saying is wrong. He’s been giddy off the escape from the city and it was almost too easy to get caught up in the heat of the sun and the light of Prompto and _forget_. The bulk of the reality they’re in presses back down on his shoulders and his body suddenly remembers the lack of sleep he’d had the night before, drowsy under its weight.

“ _Yet_ ,” hisses Gladio.

“I know you knew him once, Noct, and believe me it’s wonderful you’ve reunited, but so much can be subject to change over time, and we... we’re worried. We don’t know enough yet. Please promise me you’ll be more cautious in the future?”

Noctis slumps, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, all right. I promise I’ll be more careful.” He’s about to say more, squeeze in an apology or two, but the bathroom door clicks open as Prompto steps out and Noctis freezes. 

He’s dressed in an outfit much different than his ceremonial robes, tailored to perfection, and Noctis’ eyes widen at the sight of how long and lean his legs are in his pressed, grey trousers. The shirt layered over them is a lighter shade, creased lines running along the length of it and accenting his waist before tapering off in the back, and on top he’s pulled on a cropped white jacket lined with a shining silver trim along the edges and buckled at the top. The sleeves are patterned; the line of his biceps visible through the translucent material ending at the elbow while the top of the fabric continues on, secured all the way to his middle fingers, soft underbelly of his forearms exposed, along with the shine of his bracelet. His hair is feathered and soft against his face and Noctis’ eyes hook somewhere about the thin necklace snug around his throat.

“Does it look all right?” Prompto asks, watching them from under his lashes and tugging on the clothes as Noctis struggles to find his words.

A reluctant smirk pulls at Gladio’s lips as he glances between the two of them. “Maybe a little _too_ good.” 

It draws a strangled noise out of Prompto and Noctis busies with his shoes, blushing furiously. He hates how right Gladio is. 

Blinking a few times, Ignis clears his throat and says, “The back section of the event hall has been sectioned off for your introductions but will be open to all once the event begins. Remember to stand up straight and at least _try_ to smile.” 

Tugging at his tie, Noctis adjusts his posture and Prompto follows suit until Ignis is satisfied. “Shall we?” he asks and leaves ahead of them to make sure all is ready for their entrance.

Gladio follows him out of the room, but Noctis holds Prompto back with a gentle hand on his elbow, the skin there warm and soft. “You do, by the way,” he says and lets go. “Look good, that is.”

“Thanks,” Prompto says faintly, “You too.” 

Scrambling to remember the proper thing to do, Noctis offers out his elbow. “Ready?” 

Prompto hesitates before tucking his arm into Noctis’ hold. He moves closer as they step out of the door and navigate down the short hallway to the open lobby to meet up with the others again.

The back half of the Quay has indeed been roped off, tables set up with platters of small h’orderves and the bartop full of flutes of different drinks all set aside for guests to select from. It seems everyone and their mother have come for the event, the two dining areas towards the front packed full. Already cameras are flashing – Noctis barely remembers to smile – and the general buzz of conversation is loud as they move for the steps leading up to the next section. The grip on his arm is on the verge of too tight, but Prompto’s face is incredibly blank, a polite smile on his lips Noctis recognizes from his own mask for the public. He brings up his other hand to touch Prompto’s, hoping it’s enough of a comfort as they step out before the crowd.

“His Royal Highness Prince Noctis of Lucis and his fiancé Prince Prompto of Niflheim,” someone announces and the crowd fall deathly quiet before breaking out into a wave of whispers. 

People push forward, up on their tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of the supposed fiancé of the peace treaty.

_“- doesn’t look like much-“_

_“-hate this whole thing-“_

_“-just glad it’s over-“_

The words flying around them stoke an angry flame in Noctis’ chest and he’s surprised at the negative reaction – he shouldn’t be, but he is. They’d known this was coming, but all of yesterday it had been so simple to fall back into the familiar space of existing only in their own little bubble. Aside from their few interactions in Hammerhead it’d been the four of them out on the road, but now it was only a temporary respite from the truth. 

Prompto is a _prince_ now. He’s not the kid Noctis once knew and he has… obligations and fake expressions to wear in front of crowds who only see his status. It had been one thing to know objectively that he’s royalty, but it’s entirely another to connect the Prompto from his childhood to this political figure today. 

Ignis is right - he doesn’t know anything about the person next to him anymore, as much as it pains him to admit. There’s a good chance Prompto’s changed in ways Noctis isn’t ready to fully think about yet. 

Every time he sees a piece of the Prompto he remembers it’s like catching a glimpse of the sun between the clouds. Noctis still hopes for better days, when there’s no more question of intention or shadow of a doubt, but for now… for now he pulls him into the crowd and the party begins.

Music plays lightly over the chatter of conversation, a hush falling with their arrival, but the chattering steadily rises again and laughter carries past on the breeze. It’s far more relaxed than the gala at the citadel had been and Noctis tries to greet everyone best he can, engaging in the usual motions of small talk and thanking them for coming. He makes sure to introduce Prompto, who sticks to his side like glue, and those they talk to are polite enough though they do nothing to hide their searching once-overs. The hotel staff wanders among the crowd with plates and trays of samples and drinks and in-between entertaining guests, Noctis manages to grab two of the pork buns passing by and pulls Prompto behind a pillar.

“Here." He hands one to Prompto who dutifully takes a bite, eyes distant. 

The color comes back to his cheeks as he eats and Noctis starts in on his own, gaze wandering across the pier to a smaller dock set far enough down the beach that few people venture onto it - aside from those planning to do what he wants most in the world right now. He’s thinking about his new fishing lure stowed in the armiger when he’s brought out of his thoughts by the sound of voices right on the other side of the pillar. 

“I don’t understand it, it’s not like he’s particularly noteworthy,” a woman sighs. “Prince Noctis deserves better.”

“Shh, don’t say that here. This is their engagement party,” her friend answers and pulls their friend further away out of earshot as she continues to bemoan the loss of such an attractive bachelor.

Prompto’s gone pale again, empty hands twisting the sticky paper from the bottom of the bun and Noctis takes it from him before gripping his hand tightly.

“They’re jealous,” he says fiercely. Prompto nods meekly and he desperately searches for something to clear the air. “Do you have a fan club at home?”

Prompto snorts unexpectedly and Noctis smiles. “Sort of?” he says. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised with that handsome face,” Noctis teases and delights in how pink Prompto flushes. “Come on, people will talk if we hide too long.” He offers his arm again, and Prompto doesn’t hesitate to take it, pressing close as they return into the fray. 

They’re next approached by a tall man with silver hair styled up and a notepad in hand. “Prince Noctis,” Dino grins, reaching out his hand for a firm handshake. “Glad to see you’re still kicking. Thanks again for the gem you picked up for me in the mines.”

“It was no problem, we were down there anyway," says Noctis, relieved to have found at least one familiar face in the crowd. “This is my fiancé, Prompto.”

“How do ya do, Your Highness,” asks Dino, grinning widely as he shakes his notepad. “Don’t suppose I could get an exclusive?”

Noctis laughs and shakes his head. “You know you’ll have to go through Ignis first,” he says and Dino throws up his hands in a playful no-harm-done gesture.

“Figured. Was worth a shot. Congratulations though,” he says, directly to Prompto who balks before slipping back into his bland public smile before offering a small thank you. “Any big plans after the weddin'? Off the record of course.” 

They both freeze and Noctis panics. It all depends on how the tour goes, so right now he’s not sure what’s going to happen. 

He awkwardly glances at Prompto, but he’s staring firmly at the ground so he clears his throat and tries to think on is feet. “Well, things are hectic right now, what with the tour, so we’re focusing on the present and making the best of all the traveling." He pats Prompto’s hand.

“That’s fair,” says Dino, frowning a little. “Well I won’t keep ya. I gotta find Ignis about something else anyway, so I’ll see about the interview while I’m at it.” He throws them a parting wink and taps his notebook in his hand as he backs away.

They’re quickly swept back into the push and pull of the crowd and Noctis isn’t sure exactly when it happens, but at some point Prompto lets go of his arm. One moment they’re talking to a fairly large group, caught up in different conversations, and in the next, Prompto’s halfway across the room. Noctis is about to excuse himself to return to his side, but he's actually smiling a little – a real one this time – with Ignis hovering nearby, so he relaxes and tunes back in to his _riveting_ discussion about the transportation of supplies to outposts further west.

“You seem like someone with an appetite for science,” someone says and Noctis restrains a bemused laugh.

“Do I now?” 

The enquirer – a short woman with dark skin and hair pulled up into two ponytails under the brim of her hat - takes the opening to jump right into a monologue about her work studying frogs across Lucis and it’s so abrupt that Noctis actually pays attention. When she pauses long enough to introduce herself as Sania, he offhandedly mentions some of the fishing holes he’s discovered on his travels and wins a bright grin.

She’s mentioning something about some nearby tide pools down the beach she’s been studying, when Noctis’ gaze catches on the sheen of Prompto’s clothes across the room again. He’s nearby, standing next to one of the circular conversational benches on either at the back and talking to a woman with her hair pulled in a severe bun. Noctis smiles, glad he’s still holding his own okay, and Sania gives him a knowing look.

“You know, you really know your stuff. You would have made the perfect scientist. It’s too bad you’re already too tied up in other things to be my assistant,” she says, teasingly but still slightly mournful. 

Noctis laughs; he’s always been a prince, always set on the path to be king, and the idea of him having the chance to be anything else seems ridiculously foreign to him. He’s never had the luxury to even consider the possibility. 

“I suppose so, but I like where I am right now,” he says, and finds he actually means it. The idea of someone by his side helps and now that he’s thinking about it, if there were anyone else to know the burdens his status carries, it’s Prompto.

He's about to ask more about the tide pools when his gaze is drawn away again. Spine rigid, Prompto takes a couple steps back away from the woman he’s talking to and when she follows, pressing into his space, Noctis frowns.

“Excuse me,” he says and Sania watches in bewilderment as he crosses the room.

“-planning to do?” the woman is saying when he strains his ears. 

Unfortunately, he’s still too far away to interrupt, weaving between all the guests with as politely as he can. Her voice is getting louder and several guests are picking up on the disturbance. “These people have had their homes destroyed, have lost their families to the war! Shouldn’t there be reparations paid?”

“I – I mean, I don’t-“ Prompto is saying. His eyes dart up, searching for an escape, and when he catches sight of Noctis he looks so relieved, taking another step back and –

“PROM!” shouts Noctis, darting forward as he watches him step right off the edge of the floor. There’s no railing there, only empty space, and in the blink of an eye Prompto’s gone.

People gasp as Noctis shoves his way between them, no longer caring about being polite, with his heart racing. It takes entirely too long and he’s halfway out of his jacket before he reaches the edge of the resort. The lady stares in horror as he brushes past her, paying no mind to her flustered apologies and instead watching where the ripples are dying down, fanning out to lap against the wood. The water is clear enough to see Prompto and Noctis’ heart leaps in his throat. He’s sinking fast.

“Fuck,” Noctis grits out and rips his shoes off. 

He can hear Ignis and Gladio across the room yelling at him to stop, that it’s not safe and to _wait_ dammit, but he’s not listening – ears drowned out by the frantic beating of his pulse. He gets his other foot free and dives in without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ whoopsie!
> 
> Thank you again for all your support <33 Feel free to dump your thoughts or screaming down below!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	7. Save Room For Me In Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The last bubbles from the splash fizz away, leaving behind a suffocating silence that amplifies Prompto’s heartbeat pounding in his ears, and he quickly clamps his eyes and mouth shut to block out the stinging saltwater. Adrenaline courses through his veins, but it does little to fight the weight of his bogged down clothes and as his lungs burn tight, Prompto makes his amends._
> 
> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls in on heelies with a milkshake and the longest chapter yet* Heyyyy guys! So sorry for the long wait OTL. I didn't intend to leave that cliffhanger for so long R.I.P. Please accept this ridiculously long chapter as an apology <3
> 
> And speaking of pigeon-princess~ over [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/171623810692/hurry-and-get-your-copy-of-the-latest-issue-before) we have some more beautiful art from her!!! Please go look at how AMAZING this is! It's literally just as I imagined the scene to look ;; and it was so fucking fun to brainstorm with cheesy headlines with her for the mock mag. ~~Be sure to vote for Insomnia's Hottest Glaives!~~ As always a huge thank you to her for her endless support and friendship  <33 and to Juli and Tera for being the best beta and cheerleader I could ask for. Love you dudes.
> 
> Chapter title comes from .guilttripping. by frnkiero andthe cellabration, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Dedicated to that one lifeguard who saved me from Water World's wave pool freshman year even though I wasn't drowning ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Enjoy~

The sea is not your friend. It’s wild, untameable, and will not hesitate to drag you out to unknown depths for your untimely demise. This is what Prompto was told when he first saw it, truth reflected in the angry whitecaps ravaging the Niflheim coast down beneath sheer cliffs. It didn’t stop him from being curious.

All the pictures in his books showed him a different side to the water - from the calm, clear days captured on Lucis’ beaches and Galahd’s islands to the woven infrastructure of Altissa, a city built on the very water itself. He hadn’t had much of a chance to observe the open expanse on the way to Lucis, too busy being shuffled about from boat to airship as quickly as possible, but the stretch of sea under the bridge leading from Insomnia had felt of nothing less than freedom. He’d been excited to see more, to feel the never-ending distance of the horizon around him, especially after the blistering hot sands of Leide.

This was his mistake of course - assuming the gentle waters were no less deadly than the furious swells back home, and now he would pay for it. Not battered against the rocks relentlessly, but rather in the quiet slip of the water dragging him under. 

The last bubbles from the splash fizz away, leaving behind a suffocating silence that amplifies Prompto’s heartbeat pounding in his ears, and he quickly clamps his eyes and mouth shut to block out the stinging saltwater. Adrenaline courses through his veins, but it does little to fight the weight of his bogged down clothes and as his lungs burn tight, Prompto makes his amends. 

They flit through his mind like pages of a book, a blur of colors and steel - his dreams and regrets, his past and his supposed future. Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing if he finds his peace down here, he thinks. If he could do it over, would he have changed anything? Sure, terrible things seemed to flock to him by the dozens, but through them he had made some of his most treasured memories.

It hits him with startling intensity that he wants to make _more;_ more to hold close and cherish. He’s already seen and experienced so much in the last few days than he has in the past few years and he can’t let this end here. He’s only just got Noctis back too, met Ignis and Gladio and Nyx. He can’t very well leave them now, no matter how much they don’t trust him.

He kicks out, trying desperately to push towards the surface, but quickly realizes at this point he may not have a choice in the matter at all. The thoughts in his head swim and as his lungs threaten to sputter out, a strong arm wraps around his chest from behind and someone pulls him up. He latches onto it tightly, a tangible anchor in the void of endless water. 

When they breach the surface, Prompto tries hard to push back the dark edging in at the corners of his mind as he shudders harshly and coughs, drinking in big gulps of air which has never tasted so sweet. The arms around him hold on tightly under his arms, legs kicking to hold them in place until they’ve caught their breath. He leans his head back onto their shoulder; energy extinguished and mind drifting as he’s towed along backwards.

They must reach the dock, because when he comes back to himself he’s passed up to waiting hands that haul him onto the solid wood. Someone gently rearranges him, tucking his hand against his opposite cheek and pulling his leg across his body to rest against the planks. 

Prompto coughs some more, heaving as a hand runs down his back comfortingly. His ears are plugged, but he can hear the nearby noise in a surreal, muffled commotion of people shouting and camera shutters snapping. When he pries his eyes open he can’t see any of it, the crowd blocked out by the imposing frames of Ignis and Gladio leaning over him. He can’t find it in him to be worried yet, too full of utter _relief_ to care.

The breeze is a shock outside of the warm water of the cove; biting cold soaking into Prompto’s bones and making him shiver and shake all the same. Another figure leans over him - Noctis, he realizes - dripping wet and his expression deathly afraid as Ignis struggles to wrap a towel about his flat hair, dress shirt stuck to him like a second skin. If Prompto weren’t so freezing he'd have had to fight a blush. 

“Are you okay?” Noctis asks urgently when he notices Prompto’s awake.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling like a liar as he coughs again, “just… can’t swim.” He sits up slowly to test the waters, but regrets it as the world spins.

“Take it easy,” says Gladio, hands shooting out to hold him steady. Prompto leans into them, thankful for the support as he waits for the dizziness to pass. 

Another towel is passed over by a hotel personnel and Ignis drapes it over his head and shoulders. “I fear apologies are in order, Your Highness,” he says, and when Prompto looks up at him he won’t meet his gaze. “I took my eyes off you but for a moment and it cost you greatly.” 

Unable to muster the energy for much else, Prompto waves his apology away. It’s not Ignis’ fault he was too overwhelmed to notice where he was standing.

The medic on hand at the resort steps in to check him over for concussion or shock, shining a light in his eyes and taking his blood pressure. It’s mild in the way of checkups, so Prompto lets them run through their list without protest. The guests press forward, straining to see from the resort deck above as the staff actively tries to urge them back to the festivities, and he flinches at a blinding camera flash, ducking his head under the towel to hide the stinging in his eyes not entirely from the lingering salt water. 

And he thought the _first_ day was a fiasco. He winces and focuses instead on controlling his breathing. Ignis must notice, because as soon as the medic finishes up and gives the clear he urges them all to their feet. 

When Prompto staggers, Noctis is right there to wrap an arm around his waist, other hand at his elbow to ground him. They fall in line; Ignis close behind them as Gladio takes point to clear the path. The shield draws up to his full height, the crowd giving them a wide berth as intimidation rolling off of him in waves. It’s as if he flipped a switch, as if until now Gladio had been holding back the berth of his presence, and Prompto’s glad he can’t see his expression.

Although the guests are being held at bay, it does nothing to quell the whispers of gossip behind their hands and constant camera flashing. It’s mortifying to be seen like this. 

Prompto’s supposed to be making a good impression, which is hard enough when the people of Lucis have such decided opinions of him already. He doesn’t know why he cares what these people think. It’s not as if their opinions can change the course already laid out for him, and although the thought weighs heavy in his mind it’s easier to forget when Noctis pulls him closer and Prompto ducks his head under the towel to hide.

They’re ushered quickly into their room, Gladio opening the door for him and Noctis to shuffle inside. He doesn’t follow, instead taking up post outside and leaving the door cracked to give them a semblance of privacy as Ignis heads off to do damage control.

“Prom-”

“Don’t,” he says quietly, pulling away to wrap his arms around his chest. “I just… I want -” he cuts off into a coughing fit, jerking back when Noctis reaches out. He isn’t entirely sure what he’s trying to say, doesn’t know what he wants at all. He settles on, “Forget it. Please.” 

There’s a puddle forming on the wood floor around his sloshing shoes and he can’t help but feel guilty for that too. His chest feels empty, hollowed out and fragile. 

Normally he’d pick himself right back up and keep going, he has to after all, but it’s hard with Noctis looking right through him. Prompto grips the towel draped over his head and stares down unseeingly as water drips from the ends of his hair. “I’m causing so many problems.” 

“That’s not true,” Noctis says fiercely, and he steps in front of Prompto to rest a hand on his shoulder. He restrains a flinch and when he looks up, sky blue meets the ocean.

“They hate me,” he whispers and immediately regrets it, vulnerable under the pained look Noctis gives him.

It's _true_. Most of the guests here have had no trouble voicing their distaste of both him and the arrangement. The lady on the deck was right, reparations need to be paid, but Prompto hasn’t the faintest clue of how to help when he hasn’t even seen the devastation firsthand. He’s not fit to be here, pretending he can fix this whole mess, and those girls were right - Noctis deserves better. 

“They don’t know you,” says Noctis, and Prompto realizes he’s replying to his previous statement and not his thoughts. “They only know what Niflheim has done to them.”

Prompto winces. That's not any better and only confirms what he’d been thinking. He watches Noctis scramble to rephrase. “What I mean is… they’ll get to know you and realize they’re wrong.”

Or they’ll get to know him and realize they’re right, Prompto thinks. 

“That’s what this whole trip is about right? To meet the people, let them know this is real?” Noctis asks, his hand reaching out tentatively to take Prompto’s.

When Prompto looks up, his eyes are deep and sincere and he feels the ends of his lips tilt up involuntarily. He must look pitiful right now, drowned and tired, but Noctis is still trying to make it easier for him, so Prompto does his best to stand up straighter. “Yeah… okay.”

“All right. Now go shower so I can get in there before my toes freeze off.”

Without another word Prompto heads to his bag, trailing water all over the shiny floors as he digs for some dry clothes before retreating to the bathroom. He turns the faucet to a lower temperature like the medic had instructed, so as not to warm his body up too quickly, and works at his clothes. It’s much harder taking them off than it was putting them on, his freezing fingers fumbling with every clasp and button. 

The shower has warmed up slightly by the time he manages to get everything off and piled in the sink to dry. He hopes the clothes aren’t ruined; he’d liked the outfit. And maybe… he’d liked the way the others looked at him in it too, just a little.

Slipping into the shower, he lets it wash that thought down the drain where it belongs. The tepid water burns his freezing skin, but he grits his teeth and holds still as his body warms up. He bumps the temp before he methodically works shampoo into his hair, mind straying no matter how hard he tries to keep it blank. 

Ever since his arrival in Insomnia he’s been too vulnerable, has let Noctis see too much of his insecurities. He needs to be strong, needs to not forget the end goal of why he’s here.

He thinks of the night before - of Noctis’ eyes across the sheets and the way he’d listened to Prompto ramble, how they’d reminisced over the past. In a surprising turn of events, he hadn’t had his recurring nameless nightmare, a blessed relief, but it became embarrassingly clear why when Prompto had woken up sprawled across Noctis and half the bed like a starfish.

The early hour of the morning is nothing new to him, but waking to the sound of others puttering about had been a disconcerting change. His clinginess had no doubt been noticed by Ignis and Gladio, what with how they’d gone about their morning routines watching him from the corners of their eyes. It had been strange to see the former so unkempt; hair disheveled and dressed in basic sleep clothes before he’d vanished into the en suite.

“There’s food,” Gladio had said, sweaty and disheveled form a morning run as he gestured towards the platter set up near the couch. The awkward breakfast between them had been spent entirely in apprehension with Prompto waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. 

Once Ignis had emerged, refreshed as if he’d never been less than impeccably put together, Gladio claimed the next shower and they were left alone. It was surprisingly peaceful, the routine between them, and Prompto had snacked eagerly on the freshest fruit he’d ever seen as Ignis flipped through the morning paper. 

It wasn’t until Gladio returned that Noctis was woken and all of Prompto’s preceding shame had flooded hot and sudden in his chest, fidgeting restlessly until he could flee for the en suite. It’s almost deprecatingly funny how he’s right back here again, mere hours later and entirely humiliated once more as he scrubs the ocean salt from his skin.

He thinks of how Noctis could’ve let him drown; of how he could’ve let the voretooth finish Nocits off and had been done with it all. They’re even now, in a way. Prompto doesn't deserve his kind reassurances, but he’ll take what he can get for now. Hell, he’d almost _died_ and he’s determined to enjoy the little things before they’re inevitably taken from him again. It’s not like he isn’t used to it.

Feeling a little more settled inside, Prompto shuts off the water and dries himself before dressing in his clean clothes. They’re a little simpler, less designed to draw the eye, but still enough on the side of formal to be appropriate. 

Exiting the room, he comes face to face with Noctis striped down to only a t-shirt, boxers, and a towel draped around his neck and swiftly bursts into a flames. He refuses to look up from the ground, shuffling his feet before crossing to the couch as he listens to the pad of bare feet retreat into the bathroom. 

As he waits for the door to shut and the water to start up, he tries to erase the image of Noctis nearly half naked from his mind and reaches for the book on the table. It’s a battered thing, with pages dog-eared and the spine creased, and when he flips it open to a random page, he finds several lines of poetry along with inked annotations along the margins in a looping script. 

It’s a perfect distraction and Prompto gets lost in analyzing the flowery words and added commentary, silently agreeing and disagreeing with the annotator on certain points. He ends up so invested he barely registers the water in the other room turning off, but when the door to the hallway clicks open he throws the book back onto the table, feeling much like a caught child.

Ignis enters the room, jaw tight and expression pinched. When he realizes it’s only Prompto in the room he stops short, lips parting to speak, but his eyes catch on the sopping pile of clothes left behind on the floor.

He moves to pick them up and Noctis comes out into the room still ruffling his hair with a dry towel and thankfully dressed in another dress shirt. “Specs,” he says, stopping short.

“Gladio has seen the person in question escorted from the premises. She sends her apologies.” Ignis says this to Prompto, who ducks his head. “I’ve managed to calm the public and the press, but I’ve no doubt the story will be plastered across every major newspaper before long.”

It’s disconcerting, how readily Prompto’s embarrassment will be plastered in the media for all of Eos to preserve. He’s unused to such an unpolished side of him being solicited and prays by the time they reach Gralea he’ll have recovered his image. He curls in on himself and Ignis’ gaze softens. 

“Unfortunately not even I can change that. However, I do believe this may end up working to our advantage. Being rescued by a beloved husband-to-be from drowning is quite the hopeless romantic’s dream headline,” he says dryly and although Noctis rolls his eyes, fondness in his tilted grin.

“Do we have to go back out?” Prompto asks, already knowing and dreading the answer. Sure there’s a chance for this to have helped things, but there’s nothing he’d rather do less. 

He expects it when Ignis shifts his glasses on his nose and says, “It would be tactful to do so, yes, but you would only have to stay as long as it takes to dispel the lingering rumors and tension.”

A compromise. It makes it easier to stomach their return to the crowd knowing there’s a foreseeable end in sight. Ignis finishes folding the soggy clothes to be sent for dry cleaning and adds, “The event officially ends after the afternoon desserts, though I daresay the party will continue well into the evening.”

Prompto stands, collecting his compsure as he slips back into his public mask, allowing his face to relax into something neutral. There’s nothing to be done for the anxiety clawing its way up his throat, but he’s certainly had the practice to disguise it. 

When he and Noctis join arms again at the door, it truly feels as though they’re a united force ready to face this together. There's notable differences in Noctis’ own princely disposition, posture straight with his expression open and pleasant, but it's not entirely divergent from his everyday nature and bolsters Prompto’s confidence as they once again step through the door and into the fray of festivities.

The guests have scattered by the time they rejoin, mingling across the deck and enjoying the fresh afternoon. Gladio peels away from the wall and tails them as they go, which helps settles more of Prompto’s nerves. This time it’s less of a scene when they’re noticed, but they’re watched over the rims of drinks as the people all hover awkwardly out of reach - perhaps sensing the humiliation still roiling off of Prompto in waves as Noctis leads him further into the main lobby until someone is brave enough to approach them.

It’s the same reporter from before, looking genuinely concerned as he greets them. “All right there?” Dino asks Prompto. “You took a nasty spill.” 

He’s well-meaning, Prompto thinks. After all, he wouldn’t be on such good terms with the others if he weren’t. The casual approach to the incident makes it feel like less of an elephant in the room, shrinking the shame still roiling in his gut.

“Yes,” he says, unsure of how else to respond. “Thank you.”

Thankfully, Dino takes his stilted replies in stride. “We’re lucky Prince Charming was here to save the day,” he says, patting Noctis on the arm. “So, where are ya off to after this? Lestallum?”

And just like that it’s over and done with - no further mention from him of Prompto’s incident. 

Instead, they talk of the path of the tour and Prompto listens with interest. He’d been there when the plans were drawn out, but it’d been hard to focus with the rising panic cluttering his thoughts. From what he knows from his books, Lestallum is a major power provider in Lucis and a city with a vibrant and lively street culture. 

Despite the mess the journey has been so far, Prompto can’t help the spark of excitement he gets at the thought of exploring more of Eos. There’s so much out here he wants to see, so much he’s only witnessed in ink and paper, and he wants to experience as much of it as he possibly can before… before what? He tries not to think of how earlier Dino had asked about their plans after the wedding. What with how the way things are going he isn’t sure there’ll _be_ a wedding.

The rest of the afternoon is spent bouncing between the other guests, most of who pester and fret over Prompto as if they hadn’t earlier been discussing how horrible the whole arrangement is at all. 

“Oh poor dear,” one woman says, reaching out to cup his cheeks, and Gladio takes a step closer as Noctis stands to the side looking irritated. 

And sure, it’s annoying to be fretted over like this, but also somewhat of a relief in Prompto’s books. Their performance of pity is easier to swallow than scorn - than the glares of those who are _more_ upset by the extra attention directed his way.

By the time the dessert carts are brought out, Prompto’s drained. He absently wonders if there will come a time where he gives away enough of himself to others that there’ll be nothing left; Niflheim’s perfect empty puppet, finally fit to play the role he’s been cast. 

Noctis shakes him from the thought, tugging at his arm to pull him back away from the crowd and he follows, a little dazed. Everyone else who approaches them as they go is addressed and deflected with the infallible ease of a practiced diplomat used to finding escape routes. Noctis dodges and weaves until they’re home free, hurrying down the bridge towards the vacant beach as Gladio follows like a shadow, keeping pace with his large stride.

When they hit the sand, Noctis pauses to step out of his shoes and shove his pant legs up to his knees. Prompto hesitates before following suit, digging his toes into the fine grains and wiggling them as he rolls his pant legs up with more care. He loves the rough texture against his soles - it's grounding and solid, steadies his reeling thoughts. 

Next to them, Gladio makes no move to follow suit as he crosses his arms and scans their surroundings. The beach is pretty empty, what with everyone still mingling at the resort, taking advantage of the food and views. 

Outside the mass of people, the iron grip around Prompto’s lungs releases and he breathes in deeply, a slight smile pulling at his lips. Noctis reaches for his hand, tugging him off towards the far end of the beach. “C’mon I wanna show you something.”

It’s easier to forget the events of the party when the sound of it is far away, filtering across the waves rolling playfully against the shore. Prompto edges away from them, wary of how deceptively calm they're behaving as the memories of sipping further into the water’s depths crests into his mind. He quickly tamps it down, tired of being afraid of something so simultaneously wild and beautiful. Even if he’s… a little hesitant. No one will blame him for admiring it from a distance instead.

They reach the end of the beach where the sand abruptly turns to a porous rock and Noctis drops his hand to clamber up the stone. “Watch your step, it’s slippery." He guides Prompto up next to him before offering an unecessary hand to Gladio, who's already scrambled his way up beside them.

Gladio hasn’t said anything since the dock, not around Prompto in any case, and as he hovers nearby his stare is like heavy steel. Prompto wonders what he thinks of him now after two consecutive days of mishaps, before wondering why it matters. It’s been made perfectly clear where he stands with him, socially and physically. He’s lingering closer than he has before, but it’s most likely more for Noctis’ benefit than his own.

“Where are we going?” Prompto asks as they navigate their bare feet over the smooth tops of the rocks. He clutches his boots in his hand when he slides a little and wonders if he should stop to put them back on for some grip.

Noctis doesn’t answer, merely grins and steers them around a slight bend of the steep rise beside them leading inland and once they’re out of view from the resort another weight falls from Prompto's shoulders. His hand is taken up again, Noctis’ grip squeezing in comfort, and he peers up at him - at the way the breeze tousles his hair gently and the late evening light plays across the angles of his face. He has to look away as Noctis continues to guide him along with sure steps, the edges digging into the soft arches of Prompto’s feet and he stumbles when Noctis couches next to a pool of water.

“Look.” He points into the puddle. It's much less intimidating than the expanse of the sea and Prompto leans over the edge to gaze into an entire other world teeming with life. 

Tucked near a sharp crevice is a starfish lounging on a rock next to some colorful algae fully visible through the clear water. A small fish trapped by the tides darts in between the reds and oranges of residential anemone plants in the small underwater neighborhood, a small ecosystem separate entirely from the noise of the beach drifting in from around the corner.

“Sania, a scientist at the party, was telling me about these tide pools. Aren’t they cool?” Noctis leans his chin on his propped up knee and Prompto stares, stuck in a trance of watching the fish circling and circling. 

They make their way slowly to another pool, slightly different, but full of life nonetheless. There’s a bunch to pick from along the rocks, hollowed out dips the tides spill into at high time, and Gladio follows along behind them, sometimes curiously peering into the depths as they go.

“I wish I could take a picture,” Prompto mumbles, staring down at a ball of spikes at the bottom of the water. It has so many sharp edges, a subtle color near black but not quite, and he wonders if he could capture it on film. It’s been a while since he’s had the chance to practice and his chest aches slightly at the thought, fingers curling around his boots.

Noctis makes a noise as he digs through his pockets. “Damn,” he says and turns to Gladio who’s taken up leaning against the wall of rock set back against the land. “Can I borrow your phone? Iggy never lets me keep mine during events.”

“Well if he didn’t, it’d be dead and waterlogged now wouldn’t it,” says Gladio, but it’s more in jest than a scolding. He takes his phone out, shiny and high-tech looking, only to pull it up out of reach when Noctis reaches out for it. “Why?”

“Relax, We’re only going to take some pictures. You don’t even have to unlock it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gladio grumbles as he passes it over to Noctis. “Just don’t drop it in blondie.” Caught off guard at the direct comment, Prompto forgets to respond entirely.

“Here." Noctis passes over the phone, swiping the screen to open to the camera. “I can send you the pictures you take later.”

The quality of the phone's lense isn’t as good as a camera's would be, but it’s a hell of a lot better than what he’d been expecting. He drops his boots and slides down to lay belly-first on the stone, angling a picture to capture the glint of the urchin’s spikes. 

“Don’t have a phone,” he says plainly.

“Oh." It comes out as a strange mix of confusion and disappointment. “Well, maybe I can print them out for you instead.” 

It’s a nice thought, so Prompto allows himself to indulge and hums in approval. He takes a few more shots - the swaying arms of an anemone, the reflection of a cloud over the arm of a starfish, and one of Noctis and Gladio’s mirrored faces peering in the water before he takes some pictures of the horizon too. It’s dusk again, the colors fading in a gradient across the sky, and Prompto could watch them transition into each other forever.

They linger around the tide pools until Gladio huffs and clears his throat. Prompto hands him his phone back, trying not to feel conscious when he flips back through all the photos. 

They tiptoe carefully back to the sand and when they’re back on the beach, Noctis surprises him by leading them past the bridge leading to the hotel to a small dock further down the opposite side of the beach. Gladio stops near a small shack closed for the event and leans against the counter to watch them. The boards are steady under Prompto’s bare feet, but he still draws closer to Noctis as they near the end, nervous about being over the open water. He jumps when Noctis reaches his hand into the shimmery ether of the armiger, blue light flashing quickly as he pulls out a fishing rod.

And that’s… not what Prompto was expecting at all.

There’s the sound of the reel as Noctis quickly casts the line out into the water before plopping down on the end. When Prompto doesn’t join him, he pats the spot next to his legs and stares up expectantly at him. It’s way too close to the edge for comfort, but Prompto doesn’t want to cause anymore problems, so he grits his teeth and sits down with his legs drawn up close to his body.

It’s quiet. There’s faint laughter and music drifting across the water from the party they’re supposed to be attending right now. But then, these parties aren’t for them, are they? As long as the people are having fun and maybe, _maybe_ adjusting to the idea of this whole thing, the celebration is a success. 

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting a palette of oranges and pinks and purples across the water. The waves are gentle as they splash at the supports of the dock rhythmically, soothingly, and Prompto unfurls his legs, stretching them out to hang next to Noctis’. Their feet skim the surface, keeping them cool as the last few rays of sunlight beat down upon the heated sand. 

Once again Prompto stares out across the stretching horizon and thinks of how differently this side of the sea behaves. It’s warm and full of restrained power - so contrast to the chilling wrath of the ice grey waves he'd glimpsed once or twice in his childhood. He looks at Noctis out of the corner of his eye. 

Fishing is a surprising hobby for a prince to have - as if he could judge after the car debacle - but Prompto can tell he's in his element. He seems content to rest here, only engaging with his line when he feels a tug and reeling in a few smaller fish. It's intimate, quiet in their own little bubble, and Prompto’s immensely grateful to have been allowed to join in on this private moment at all.

Galdin Quay shines brightly as the sun slips away to the west and lamps are lit along the bridge. The event hall itself is a soft glow against the thinning strokes of colored sky as a dark shadow falls over the landscape. The day has drawn on long and Prompto’s eyes are drooping when he catches sight of a flitting light beneath the water. He snatches his feet up, afraid of something snatching his ankle and dragging him back under the water, and nervously he peeks over the end of the dock. 

There are several fish darting around, awakened by the chilled dark of night and Prompto double takes because they’re _glowing_. Their slim bodies shimmer in the distortion of the ripples, lit with some sort of bioluminescence, and Noctis attaches a new lure to his line. He's seemingly unruffled by their appearance, but when Prompto sits back up the corner of his lips tilts in amusement and he casts the line again, the pretty fish darting about at the intrusion.

He’s startled from his reverie by voices carrying out to them, closer than before, from Ignis and Gladio caught up in a conversation near the little shop. When they both look over their way, he whirls back around to pretend he wasn't watching and it isn’t long before there are heavy footsteps approaching on the planks.

“Ignis sent me to come ask you guys if you’re all right with camping tonight, to save on expenses."

“Doesn’t sound like you’re doing much asking,” Noctis deadpans, not looking away from where he’s reeling in another small fish with practiced ease.

Grinning as if he’s won a prize, eyes glittering, Gladio says, “‘cause I’m not.” 

At Noctis’ snort of amusement he continues on. “C’mon, how often do we get the chance to camp out on a beach under the stars?” The excitement is rolling off of him in waves and it’s such a stark difference to his usual countenance that Prompto stares unintentionally.

“I think it’ll be nice,” he says quietly. The idea of camping is a foreign concept, at least in practice, but right now nothing sounds worse than retreating inside on such a warm evening.

Gladio’s smile droops a little before picking back up as if it’d never slipped. “Three to one Noct,” he says brightly and heads back for the end of the deck.

Groaning, Noctis stands and shoots Prompto a slightly betrayed look as he puts away his fishing rod into the ether. “Guess that’s the sign for us to pack it in,” he says with a sigh and disappointment stings low in Prompto's chest. 

They’re joined at the end of the dock by Ignis, who has Prompto’s bag slung over his shoulder and he rushes forward to take it from him. “I wouldn't mind carrying it for you,” says Ignis, and it sounds like an apology. “How are you faring?”

“Better,” says Prompto, throwing the strap over his own shoulder. 

If he’s being honest, although he does feel more settled emotionally, he’s exhausted. Concrete bricks drag at his feet and his body aches all over if he stops long enough to let it. Nearly dying will do that to you, he’s thinks dryly. And that’s probably not the type of reaction he should be having to this situation, but if he weren’t laughing about it he’d be crying instead and right now he doesn’t have the time or energy for tears.

Gladio takes the lead from there, veering left at the end of the dock towards the far side of the beach they hadn’t ventured to earlier.

“There’s a haven near here,” Noctis says as they crunch across the sand and Prompto shifts his bags strap over his shoulder. He’s not entirely sure what they are and not wanting to risk saying something utterly farfetched, he decides to play it safe. 

“What’s that?”

“Hearth stones infused with magic to stave off daemons,” says Gladio nonchalantly and Prompto flinches, his heart pounding. He twists his hands around his bag and tries not to falter in his steps.

Ignis watches his reactions keenly. “When they still roamed Eos in abundance, the oracle of the time created these stones for travel to become more accessible at night and over long distances. Although daemons are almost entirely unheard of in this day and age, the runes still hold their protection for those who seek a safe respite.”

“Like us,” Noctis concludes. He's grimacing, but shakes it off. “For the most part anyway, unless where we’re headed is more than a day’s trek away from one.” 

Prompto makes an interested noise for appearances and files the information away to analyze later when his tired brain isn’t racing ten steps ahead of him.

The sun has slipped completely behind the water, sky opening into a vast expanse of constellations that Prompto stares at for so long he nearly trips and falls over the uneven ground. It’s only now he can see the curling blue wisps of vapor rising up against the night sky, and when he follows the trail of it back down he spots the flat rock of what must be the haven, etched in symbols glowing in blue. It should be eerie, but Prompto only feels the distinct relief that accompanies finally spotting a light in the dark.

He follows the others as the rock slopes up from the beach to the flat surface where the smoke rises up from a centered, low-burning hearth in the same ethereal shade as the runes. The oracle’s magic, he thinks, a shiver rolling up his spine. 

Already Noctis is pulling equipment out of the crystal’s ether, dumping a bag full of tarp and poles onto the ground that Gladio snatches away with a grumble about disrespect as Ignis assembles what looks like a small kitchen. Their routine stems from years of knowing each other - and apparently from camping together a lot - and Prompto stands awkwardly off to the side, trying to find a place to fit in. It’s almost as difficult as it had been in battle, and he pauses before drifting over towards the tent to see if Gladio needs a hand.

Predictably he’s shooed away after the third attempt to help goes awry. “Jesus kid, haven’t you ever been camping?” he asks as he fixes the pole Prompto has messed up once again.

“Too cold in Gralea,” he mumbles, lifting a shoulder in a sheepish shrug. 

He doesn’t mention the fact that even if it were warm enough, no one would bother to take him on such a pointless leisure expedition. He’d been given a survival training course by his tutors later in his years of studies, but it was focused more on forging a path in the extremes - tents not included - and wasn’t exactly the hands-on experience he would’ve undergone if he’d remained in the Keep. And if he had, this would still be different anyway - camping for recreation over necessity and not anywhere near the subzero temperatures of the mountains outside Gralea.

“Why don’t you go see if Iggy needs help with dinner,” Gladio suggests and does something with the tarp and poles that turns the tent three dimensional. Prompto blinks in surprise and wonders if Gladio's gifted at all with some sort of magic beyond the armiger.

He passes by Noctis who’s working on coaxing the campfire flames into a warmer blaze for the chairs set up around it. There are four set out and Prompto’s heart clenches a little at the consideration, feeling almost as if… he’s meant to be here.

When he approaches Ignis to ask if he can help, he’s lent a knife, cutting board, and pile of assorted vegetables to slice. “Make sure they’re nice and thin,” Ignis says, before raising his tone to carry across the camp, “it makes them harder to notice and pick out.” 

Noctis’ indignant shout echoes across the hills and Prompto tamps down his laughter, thinking back to the engagement dinner in Insomnia and how he’d watched Noctis push his vegetables to the side. It seems like so long ago now, the time spent in Insomnia and on the road stretching impossibly long. He gets lost in the rhythmic motions on his work, content with the warm feeling that’s returned with being useful.

Together they prepare some sort of green soupy dish Ignis puts into four dishes and passes out, smelling so heavenly that Prompto’s mouth has been watering nonstop. They all sink into their chairs around the fire and when he takes a bite he’s sure he’s died and gone to heaven. He’s never had anything so delicious in his life - including the burger from the night before _and_ the breakfast spread the hotel had provided _and_ the platters of h’orderves at the party.

When he slows down enough to breathe, he says as much to Ignis who tutts in response, but he hides a satisfied smirk behind another bite of food. Prompto knows the others are watching him out of the corners of their eyes, but can’t find it in him to care when he’s so full of Ignis' amazing food.

Unfortunately, it’s gone all too soon and Prompto’s busy mourning his empty bowl when Ignis spoons another round into it. He stares at it in shock, blinking slowly as if it may disappear and when he realizes Ignis is watching him, brow quirked, Prompto ducks his head to hide the utterly pleased smile unfurling across his face as he digs into the second helping.

When all their bowls have been scraped clean they settle back in their chairs as the fire warms their limbs. In the distance the ocean rolls against the shore and Prompto has never felt so full and sated, but it’s a welcome change. The salt air fills his lungs and all around them echo the chirps of the night bugs.

As the others converse quietly, Prompto leans back in his chair and stares straight up at the sky. He’s known in theory how many stars hung above them on a daily basis, but seeing them with his own eyes - spiraling curls and swirls of vibrant heavenly bodies - he feels awestruck, as if he could reach up and touch them, fall into the spaces in between them. Sleep pulls at his eyelids heavily than before, but he doesn’t want to look away, doesn’t want to forget this.

“It’s always nice being outside of the city,” Noctis says, drawing Prompto’s attention as he voices his exact thoughts. “The lights are too bright there to see the stars.”

If it were Prompto’s choice he would’ve stayed out there all night, staring up forever at the endless stretch of sky, but it’s not to be - not when they’ll be heading out again the next day, for the next town of the tour. Stumbling slightly, he goes through the motions as they set about cleaning up, washing their dishes and working on dousing the fire, but all he can think about is how all four of them are about to be sharing that tiny tent. 

That wakes him up, feeling awkward in his skin as he quickly slips into the tent to change into some sleep clothes while he’s alone. It’ll be fine, he tells himself, but his hands still shake with nerves as he folds his pants.

He’s putting them away into his bag when the tent rustles. It’s Noctis, followed closely by Ignis, and as they change Prompto reorganizes his things despite already being packed away perfectly.

“You okay?” Noctis asks and Prompto jumps, thankful they're both decent. 

He nods, but judging by the concerned looks both Ignis and Noctis give him, it isn’t convincing. He tries again. “Yeah, fine. Tired.”

“This one will be yours for the night,” say Ignis, gesturing to a sleeping bag already laid out on the end next to the one he’s sitting on. He adjusts his glasses, looking to the side. “I would prefer to keep a close eye on you during the night, to be sure you’ve fully recovered from earlier.” 

It’s probably not the only reason, but Prompto’s too tired to think hard about it and before he can answer, the tent rustles once more as their final party member eases inside. 

“Fire’s taken care of,” says Gladio, stripping his shirt as he flops down half on top of Noctis who makes a disgruntled noise. Prompto averts his gaze from the casual affection.

Instead, he admires the silky quality of the bag, running his hands over the material as he slips inside. There’s a rustling beside him as Ignis slip his glasses off his nose, placing them out of harm’s way. His profile is sharper without them, eyes glittering keenly in the lamplight.

When he catches Prompto watching his mouth pulls at the side and says, “I do hope you won’t be too uncomfortable with merely a sleeping bag on the ground.”

Shuffling on his back to get comfy, Prompto stares up at the tarp. “It’s okay,” he says, eyes already fluttering shut out of their own volition. “I’ve slept on worse.”

He freezes, muscles locking as he realizes what he’s admitted to. There’s a strained silence, only the sounds of the night outside the tent filling the air before he quickly rolls over to face the tarp. “Goodnight."

The others move around, settling in before they too say their goodnights and the lantern is switched off. 

In the dark of the tent Prompto tries not to panic. He hadn’t meant to say that, and now he’s running through all the possibilities of if he had let something even _worse_ slip out. He needs to stay on his guard, no matter how tired or bruised and battered he is.

The feeling of belonging which had wormed its way hopefully into his chest earlier sharpens. There isn’t much space between him and the others, but Prompto can still feel the gap - a bubble of intimacy only achieved after building up over years and years of knowing one another.

Sure, he and Noctis had known each other long ago, but he’s different now - still alike to the person Prompto knew, but at the same time not at all. And well, he’s changed too, hasn’t he? Prompto curls a little further into his sleeping bag. The sounds of the nightlife right outside the tarp of the tent that had earlier been comforting and refreshing, now feel foreign and entirely too loud.

His muscles ache from the events of the day, of the whole ordeal of the treaty and tour, and the thought of how much more lies before them feels endless, so Prompto pulls the sleeping bag up over his head and tries to sleep. He isn’t very successful.

When he wakes up, it’s to something shifting beneath his cheek and his mind jumps to high alert, feigning unconsciousness as he recollects his thoughts. He’s… camping, that’s right. He’d made a huge embarrassment of himself the day before, but managed to fall asleep so this must be… he blushes and tries to maintain his deadweight as Ignis detangles enough to slip outside. Mortified, Prompto rolls over and tries to sleep again and forget, but only succeeds in replaying all the events of the tour so far over and over until he gets up to follow.

The sun has barely risen when he slips out of the tent, groggy and feeling weighed down with lead. Before him the water is as breathtaking as it had been the day before, stretching out over the horizon and tinted with the palette of the sunrise. Galdin Quay is quiet, all the vacationers who hadn’t returned home from the party sleeping in or sleeping off their champagne headaches.

Ignis gives him tilt of his head from where he’s going about tidying and prepping for the start of the day and Prompto shies away, too self-conscious to return it. He makes his way over to where Gladio is stretching his legs near the edge of the haven, sidling up slowly so he’ll see him approaching.

Back in Niflheim, running had been an escape for Prompto. When things weren’t going well, or even if they were, he would head for the nearby training hall, running until his calves and lungs ached enough to fill his mind and push out all his other thoughts. Occasionally he’d slip down there in the middle of the night, plagued by dreams he couldn’t remember and the impending press of the expectations and future which awaited him. 

He’s still wary of Gladio, the tension between them and his ever-watchful gaze, but right now he misses the thrum of his heart in his veins when he runs; misses the burn and strain in his muscles draining him of anything else; misses it enough for him to not shy away from Gladio's hard and questioning gaze.

Prompto shuffles his feet and tries to search for the words to ask for what he wants. He’s never been good at that. “May I, uh… may I run with you today?” he asks, body already tensed to flee as he’s denied.

Gladio freezes mid-stretch, staring at Prompto as he backpedals frantically. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I just – I thought maybe since… nevermind, I’m so sorry, it’s stupid.” 

Stepping back, Prompto's ready to never so much as look towards Gladio again, but is stopped when he speaks. “Better stretch if you want any chance of keeping up.” He’s leaning deeper into his hamstring as if nothing had happened and Prompto waits for him to take it back.

He doesn't and Prompto eases down the cool hearthstone for his own round of warm-ups and they quietly go through the motions, watching each other’s routine until they’re both limber and clambering down the haven onto the sand. 

The sun isn’t up over the mountains yet, pale yellow smoothing out the rough peaks and the sand of the beach. Gladio sets off at a quick pace towards the resort and Prompto breaks into a jog alongside him. He keeps up all right enough, hanging a step or two behind on principle more than anything else. The sand is packed firmly this morning, damp from the high tide, but still challenging as it gives beneath their feet. By the time they draw near the parking lot he’s worked up a good sweat, breaths settled into a deep, familiar rhythm. The pull of his legs has eased the tensions he’s carried since Niflheim, his mind blissfully blank from his restless night.

When they pass the dock, he stops abruptly in his tracks.

“What is it?”

Prompto doesn’t answer, instead makes his way over to the newsstand, heart sinking.

Propped up against the racks there’s a magazine, fresh and glossy with a picture of him and Noctis stamped across the front brightly. He reaches for it, tracing over the headline, “Royal Couple Kicks Off Tour with a Splash!” emblazoned in bold for everyone to read. Shame burns hot in his gut as he looks at himself in the picture, drowned and small and looking ever so much like the kid believed to be incapable of handling what he has to do.

“Hey,” says Gladio lowly, and Prompto stares at the ground to avoid the disgust. Or the pity. He isn't sure which would be worse. He relents when the magazine is eased from his hands and returned to the rack. “Don’t read that crap. The tabloids are hardly a worthy publication.”

Prompto already knows this of course, but it’s hard to face it head on, to know exactly what Lucis - and quite possibly the rest of Eos - is reading about him. 

“Are we going to run or not?” Gladio asks and Prompto refocuses, ready to escape this as much as everything else he’s running from.

They pause at the far rocks near the tide pools, catching their breath and stretching more now that their muscles are loose and supple. Gladio is barely sweating, dark skin glowing in the rising sun, and when their eyes meet Prompto looks away quickly. 

“Not bad,” says Gladio, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Now how about a real test… a race back to the haven.”

Prompto grins broadly. Now this, this is something he can handle, he thinks and takes a gulp of air before dropping into a runner’s stance, back foot propped against the sheer face of rock. 

Gladio’s responding grin is gleeful and amused as he follows suit. “Count of three,” he says. “One.”

Prompto digs his toes into the sand.

“Two.”

He breathes deep, eyes forward as his world tunnels down to the far rock of the haven.

“Three.”

They take off, scattering sand behind them as they tear across the beach. 

They’re lucky it’s early enough that there aren’t too many people awake yet, no unpredictable obstacles in their way. Prompto keeps a steady gait, can hear Gladio keeping pace beside him over the pounding of his heart and he kicks up another gear. His legs are burning, lungs screaming, but he’s never felt so alive and pushes and pushes until it feels like he’s flying across the ground, barely touching it. 

Gladio’s bulk is deceptive, working like a well-oiled machine as he pulls ahead ever so slightly. The haven is rapidly approaching, drawing closer and looming, until with a final desperate push, Prompto manages to take the lead.

They stop, chests heaving, and Gladio’s sweating for real now, rivets of sweat rolling down his forehead and neck. Looking away, Prompto raises his hands above his head to take the pressure off his ribs as he walks in circles and waits for his body to catch up with him. He feels as though he’s left himself back across the beach, and relishes in his empty thoughts. The sun has risen up over the mountains, temperature climbing steadily, and Prompto’s infinitely glad they’d gone for the run before its rays could glint blindingly off the sand. 

When they have the breath to speak, Gladio’s eyebrows arch steeply. “Not bad,” he concedes, but he doesn’t seem upset about losing. “Surprised you could keep up at all.” 

Gladio laughs disbelievingly and drops a solid hand on Prompto’s shoulder, his chest growing tight from the praise and unused to the casual gesture of camaraderie being offered. He shrugs bashfully before digging up a lopsided smile in return and Gladio blinks hard before heading to the haven.

_You shouldn’t be getting close to anyone on this trip idiot,_ Prompto’s mind whispers and his mood plummets steeply, shoulders bunching as the rest of him catches back up to speed.

When he catches sight of Noctis bundled blearily in one of the camping chairs picking sleepily at a plate of food, Prompto’s thoughts quiet. He perks up when they climb back up the stone to accept their own plates from Ignis and Prompto drops heavily into the chair next to Noctis. 

It’s a mirror image of the night before, the sprawling night sky traded for endless blue as the others talk. Prompto watches the waves rolling onto the shore, mind drifting, and it’s hard to remember he’s there - hard to believe he’s thousands of miles from home and staring at a landscape fit to be a picture in one of his books. He scarcely dares to breathe, afraid it’ll crumble before his eyes.

_You don’t deserve this,_ his thoughts say, _it’s not going to last._ And Prompto knows they’re right, but he’ll be damned to not to enjoy it while it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, although Insomnia hasn't fallen, something else definitely did ~~prom~~. This story will loosely follow the game's events, but a lot will be different - specifically with the lore, worldbuilding, and character's backgrounds. (Also I took creative liberty to expand Hammerhead and Galdin ~~because where the fuck do all the npcs sleep~~ ). My goal is to strike a balance between a fresh plot and warm familiarity of our beloved ffxv <3 
> 
> If you like this story I'd love to hear your thoughts or favorite parts! Thank you guys so much for reading, it means the world!!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	8. Got the Stars Back in My Eyes Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s that word again. Future. It looms on the horizon - towering over them all with no clue as to any substance, be it storm or shadow._
> 
> A messenger brings an unexpected surprise, giant beasts are tamed, and Lestallum awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my dudes! Life grabbed me by the ankles the last few weeks - I had a birthday, friends were in town, there was a concert, and work picked up like crazy - but things have settled down and I'm BACK! There is some art over [here](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/173282106332/a-few-sniffles-slip-out-and-he-lifts-a-sleek) by my dear friend pigeon-princess <33 she really outdid herself, it's beaUTIful. Beware spoilers - you may want to check it out after reading ;D As always big thanks to her for co-creating this world with me, to Tera for being my number one fan, and to Juli for being a phenomenal best friend in her support <3
> 
> Chapter title comes from Rainbow by Kesha. You can check it out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

Noctis wakes to an empty tent.

At first he’s content to roll over and nod off again, but then he _remembers_ \- the tour, Galdin Quay, Prompto slipping deeper into the crystal water - and jolts upright, scrambling out of the tent with his sleeping bag bundled about his shoulders. The shine glinting off the water is bright enough to make him wince, blinking to clear his vision.

“Rest well?” asks Ignis over the pop and sizzle of Garula bacon. Aside from him the camp is empty.

With a suspicious glance around the haven, Noctis slumps down into his camp chair and tugs his sleeping bag up further around his shoulders to stave off the early morning mist. “Yeah, you?”

“I did.” It comes out stilted and Noctis frowns when Ignis coughs awkwardly, the tops of his ears burning. “Prompto is quite the… close contact sleeper.”

Noctis snorts, thinking back to the night before. “He was like that when we were kids too.”

A touch sadness flickers across Ignis’ face and it stirs something sour in Noctis, his worry from earlier rising up once more. “Speaking of, where is he? And Gladio?”

“They went for a run,” says Ignis, scooping an egg out of the pan and onto a plate. 

The thought of them alone together doesn’t sooth Noctis’ worry, but a small flicker of hope ignites at the thought of Gladio warming up to Prompto, however slight.

After making sure the stove is off, Ignis brings the plate over and settles down onto the chair next to him, their knees brushing. Noctis wiggles an arm out of his cocoon, but Ignis lifts it out of reach and uses his free hand to tilt his head up, searching eyes bottle green in the morning light. 

“Are you all right Noct? After everything that happened?”

The weight of yesterday’s events dumps over Noctis like a pile of bricks and he slumps, leaning into the warm hand on his cheek. His heart skips a beat as he thinks of Prompto sinking and sinking, the crash of water sealing over his head when he dove in and grasped for anything to hold onto, hoping he wasn’t too late. He could have been.

A chill runs through his spine at the thought. The tide pools and fishing had been distractions as much for Prompto as for himself - anything to take their minds off the disastrous engagement party and the guests who found a change of tune to ‘poor Prince Prompto’ - and he’d stuffed the fear down well enough, but one question tugging at the loose thread and it all came unraveled.

“Shaken,” he answers truthfully. Ignis would know if he lied or tried to brush it off. “But I’ll be okay.”

A thumb passes over his cheek and he catches a glimpse of the vulnerable line of Ignis’ shoulders before he’s pulled into a tight embrace. “Is it too much to ask you to refrain from giving me any more heart attacks before this tour has concluded?” Ignis' voice is thick, and Noctis laughs wetly and leans into the hug.

“Probably.”

“I implore you to wait the next time something like this occurs, all right? _If_ ever - Six help us.” They linger in the connection, all their pent up denied intimacies packed into one gesture of affection until Ignis pulls back, voice serious as he cups Noctis’ face. “We’re in this together, Noct. Let us help you.”

Although the shame simmers low in his stomach, he wouldn’t have changed his actions and they both know it - both know it’s a false agreement to ease their minds. “Okay.”

“Good.” Ignis returns to the kitchenette and Noctis pushes around his food on his plate, appetite dwindling.

Movement on the sand catches his eye and he perks up at the sight of Prompto and Gladio climbing up the stone of the haven. He opens his mouth to greet them, but his words catch - mind wiped blank with how disheveled they are, hair rumpled from the breeze and skin glowing with the sheen of sweat. Noctis shoves egg into his mouth to stop from saying something stupid.

“How was your run?” asks Ignis with pointed amusement and Gladio’s eyes cut to Prompto settling in a chair of his own.

“Not bad.”

The morning passes quickly - breakfast followed by the routine of repacking the camping supplies and storing them safely away in the armiger. Noctis enlists Prompto’s help with folding up the chairs and dousing the fire back down to it’s low simmering magic hue as the others set about deconstructing the tent and kitchenette.

When they hike back to the car the sun is high in the sky, countered only by the breeze blowing in from overseas, and all the hungover party guests have returned to the beach in droves to beat the heat. They work their way over the sand, skirting the crowd splashing in the sea and lounging on beach towels laid over the burning sand, but Noctis drops back when he notices Prompto lagging. As they climb the stairs to the parking lot his eyes remain locked on the horizon, iridescent blue ocean glimmering gold where the sun touches. 

“Hey,” says Noctis, touching his elbow gently. When he has Prompto’s attention he smiles in what he hopes comes across as reassurance. “We’ll come back some day, okay?”

It’s a paper promise, as thin as the decorative media treaty is compared to the stack of conditions behind closed doors, but he latches onto it - onto the hope of a future where they visit again together. As husbands, Noctis thinks and swallows thickly when Prompto’s smile wavers.

“C’mon, start making tracks,” calls Gladio and they jolt, scrambling into the car.

Before putting the car in drive, Ignis passes over the bottle of sunscreen to Prompto again and Noctis’ eyes catch on the faint pink dusting across the peaks of his shoulders and the apples of his cheeks. 

The breeze from the open roof stirs the air as they backtrack up the hill and through Galdin’s main street to take a left towards Duscae. On the edge of town the road slips into a tunnel through the mountains, cool air sliding over Noctis’ skin like a balm and his head dips a few times as he settles back against the seats. Gladio’s already nose deep in his book, eyes flickering up every other page to watch Prompto, who’s excitement builds and builds the longer the tunnel goes on.

“Is it as pretty as it looks in pictures?”

“Duscae? It’s certainly stunning to witness in person,” says Ignis. “Though the humidity tends to grow old.”

“And the gnats,” Noctis adds sleepily. “Mosquitoes.”

Prompto deflates, a grimace on his face. “They can’t be that bad, can they?”

“You’ll be fine as long as you wear the bug spray we packed,” says Gladio, flipping a page loudly. “Only works on small pests unfortunately.”

“All the magic in Lucis, but a killer bee repellent would be _far_ too convenient,” says Ignis and Noctis snorts at the dry drawl of his voice, thinking of all the run-ins with nests in the past which could have been entirely avoided. 

“K-killer bees???”

“They’re mostly in Cleigne, so we shouldn’t run across any,” Noctis says and cringes, hoping he hasn’t jinxed anything. Killer bees aren’t named for their pleasant nature.

Before anyone can add anything, they slide back into the light of day and Noctis has to blink the spots out of his vision. The scent of the forest sweeps over them with the next breeze, sticky humidity slicking the back of his neck and filling his lungs with fresh air. Up front, Prompto leans dazed against the door, staring up at the towering trees as their emerald leaves fly by overhead in dappled shadows.

Drowsiness tugs on Noctis like an insistent friend, the stretch of the miles beneath the tires a lulling comfort, but he forces his mind to stay awake to watch Prompto’s reactions. They’re refreshing - novel in their honesty and wonder at Duscae in full bloom. The lush greenery parts as the signature rock arches roll into view, scattered along the ground like handles curving through the sky. Tan rock rises up in ripples around the eons old meteor impact of the Disc of Cauthess, sand blasted into twisting, crystallized glass glinting in the sun.

On the opposite side of the valley the mountains rise again, and Ignis pauses at a fork in the road to point at the blocky structures on the far slopes visible right over a curving wave of the disc for Prompto to take note. 

“Lestallum. Normally we’d push through and make the journey in a day, but I managed to pack a spare day before the next event. There will be no harm in stopping at a haven for the night to enjoy ourselves.”

“Camping,” says Gladio with a grin, setting his book opened upon his knee to stretch his arms.

Normally, Noctis would be averse to too many nights spent out under the stars in a row - nothing beats the comfort of a bed - but a break from all the crowds before Lestallum sounds like heaven. There’s the stirrings of excitement in his chest as he watches the landscape spinning by and a settled ease takes up home in his limbs with the open sky above them and the possibility of fishing in the near future.

It’s peaceful, the chirp of birds and insects alike striking a chorus with the steady rhythm of pages turning in Gladio’s book. Noctis drifts in and out of consciousness, catching flashes of green and blue and a brief moment where Ignis slows to let an Garula herd cross the road, much to Prompto’s glee. His excited chattering blends in with the wind and Noctis smiles into his shoulder, eyes sliding shut once again. The Regalia is _home_ and Prompto meshing well with it is nothing short of comforting.

“Oh!”

Jolting from his doze, Noctis sits up to see Prompto leaning far out of the car again, right up until Gladio clears his throat pointedly and he retreats back inside. Off in the forest are brightly colored wooden fences looping around between the trees, flashes of yellow zipping by. They pass a branch in the road, weathered sign carved in elegant letters that advertise Wiz’s Chocobo Post. 

It’s worrying how still Prompto is, frozen with his hands gripping the leather of the seat tightly, and Noctis asks, “Okay Prom?”

“Will we get to see any?”

As Prompto cranes his neck back towards the race tracks, Noctis meets Ignis’ gaze in the rearview mirror. “Uhh… Chocobos?”

“I doubt we’ll be renting any on this trip,” says Gladio and when Prompto droops in his seat Noctis elbows him in the side with a pointed frown and he scrambles to recover. “But we may pass some as we go and I’m sure we will in the future.”

There’s that word again. Future. It looms on the horizon - towering over them all with no clue as to any substance, be it storm or shadow.

It seems to be enough of a deal to Prompto, who goes back to watching the scenery pass, and Noctis catches Ignis’ eyes once more and smiles at the amused grin tucked in the corner of his lips. 

The day stretches long over the course of their journey, sun hanging low in the sky when they pull into the parking lot. The heat radiating off the meteor mixes with the damp air, hot and muggy, only broken by the breeze passing through. As they walk towards the haven, Noctis’ boots squish in the wet grass and they all take turns spraying the bug repellent in hopes of deterring the gnats swarming over smaller puddles. 

The blue-green lakes of the Alstor Slough sparkle, surface glittering like diamonds as the ambling catoblepas, with their towering bodies and swooping necks, graze on water life. Red shrubs dust the green hillsides like brushstrokes of paint while to the southwest the Rock of Ravatogh puffs smoke in an empty warning, jagged edges of the mountain cutting sharp against the blue sky. Duscae is wild and rough and so utterly untouched by the widespread concrete jungle of Insomnia and when Noctis breathes deeply the air tastes of freedom.

Prompto stumbles over a rock or two when he fails to snap out of his reviere, and Noctis thinks about passing over his phone to let him take some pictures as momentos when striped yellow and black fur catches his eye.

The yellowtooth are on them before he can blink, Ignis’ arm darting out in front of him as they draw their weapons from the armiger. Across the way, there’s a yelp from Prompto as he's jerked back inches from the snapping fangs of the creature’s long face. 

The pack regroups, hackles rising as they circle and dart between them in an attempt to confuse. They’re skinny, more so than usual, and reek of desperation.

It’s a fast fight.

Noctis almost feels bad cutting them down, but yellowtooth are considered pests in these parts, scaring off people from Neeglyss Pond and dwindling the Garula population down to alarming numbers when run unchecked. The fray of battle flows naturally, his blade spinning as an extension of his arm as he warps in and out of the pack, dodging the timed attacks of the others. Before long they’re down to the last one, Gladio fending it off with his shield when Prompto charges in, sliding between his legs to dispatch it with a final shot.

Adrenaline runs taunt between them all, the high of the win devolving into a whoop and sly smiles passed around as Prompto brushes his clothes off. Gladio laughs, deep and full-chested, and the sound lifts Noctis’ spirits to the dome of sky above them, only to plummet when Gladio lifts a wrist in a show of camaraderie and Prompto recoils so hard he falls back to the ground.

Their laughter cuts off, Noctis stumbling forward a few steps with his hands outstretched in a knee-jerk reaction. The buzz of insects fills the empty space of their collectively held breath and he exchanges a look with the others over Prompto’s head. There’s a small break in Gladio’s gaze - one reflected in his own - before it turns to steel, his jaw bunching. Noctis hates how young Prompto looks, folded in on himself with an arm raised in defense; hates the implications behind it.

Easing forward, Ignis reaches out to help him. “Are you all right-”

Prompto jerks into action, bouncing back to his feet and pulling a jittery smile out of thin air. “Sorry, you startled me,” he jokes, lightly punching Gladio’s bicep, but his voice is as shaky as his excuse. No one calls him out and Noctis’ heart sinks further.

“Here.” With slow and deliberate movements, Gladio reaches out to take Prompto’s arm, curling his fingers into a fist and bumping their wrists together gently. “Nice shot.”

Prompto blinks, face still flushed with embarrassment. “Is this…” he draws back from Gladio, eyes darting between them all as he softly touches his arm. “Is this a Lucian custom?”

The tension snaps, a snort tumbling out of Noctis’ lips before he can stop it with Gladio not far behind, a smile gracing Ignis’ features as he shakes his head fondly. 

Noctis grins. “I guess it’s more of an… ‘us’ custom.”

“Oh,” says Prompto. “ _Oh_.” 

His smile is back - his real one - but somehow it only makes the memory of him on the soggy ground more painful, stuck in Noctis’ chest like a thorn. None of them push, although Prompto’s more subdued the rest of the way to the haven. As much as Noctis hates to admit it, it’s not their place. Not yet.

Camp is pitched in the ease of routine, with Prompto blending in more smoothly than the night before, and soon enough everything’s set into place with the late afternoon stretching out before them. Noctis settles down onto the stone and stares at the dock further into the ponds, still the same as the first time he visited them, and barely stirs when Prompto sinks down beside him.

“My dad brought me here once, when the war was quiet.” The sound of metal clattering behind them makes him hyper conscious of the murmur between Gladio and Ignis.

Prompto traces his fingers along the runes. “That sounds nice.”

“He pushed me in the lake,” Noctis says flatly and laughs at Prompto’s horrified expression. “It was only a prank, the water here isn’t deep. And besides, I got him back later.”

The line of Prompto’s shoulders relaxes as he huffs a laugh. “I’m glad you were okay.”

“Yeah, it was… really something.” 

It’s all he can manage to say, with no way to pack how much the weekend trip meant to him into his words. It had been the only time they left Insomnia to spend longer than a meal or afternoon together and the memory of having his dad to himself for once is one Noctis holds closely.

There’s a brush of fingers against the back of his hand, a fleeting comfort as Noctis tries to grasp at the distant watercolor memory. 

At its core, Duscae is the same - the smell of sweetgrass on the breeze, the shimmering rainbows reflecting off the haze of mist rising up as the sun sinks away - but so much has changed. He’s older, and wiser despite what some on the council may think, and now he has others to share the burden of his duty with. He thinks of his father left on the steps of the citadel back home and rubs at his eyes.

When he looks up there’s a smudge of grey to the south horizon and he blinks, jumping up when it darts across more than a third of the valley headed straight for them. His heart gallops wildly as he realizes what it is, feet moving without thought as he scrambles down the rock of the haven, and a vice around his chest he hadn’t realized was there falls away with the appearance of Umbra.

They meet somewhere in the middle, damp ground giving beneath Noctis’ feet as he couches to pull the makeshift bag tied against Umbra’s back and dig out a dog biscuit from the depths of his pockets, praising him softly as he scrubs a hand down the dog’s spine and scratches behind his ears. When he stands the bag swings heavily in his hands and he frowns, wondering what else Luna would have sent aside from their customary notebook.

“ _Pryna?_ ”

Noctis halts, gaze flicking between Umbra sat at his feet and Prompto, standing stock still a few feet away. The ears on Umbra’s head twitch as he cocks his head and trotts over to brush up against Prompto’s leg.

“No... Pryna was… she had white fur?” Prompto says quietly, brow furrowing as he bends to scratch at the dog’s neck.

Shifting the bag in his hands, Noctis crosses over and settles down beside them, sticking out a hand to muss the fur along Umbra’s spine. “Siblings,” he says in explanation. “You’ve met Pryna?”

“Once,” is all Prompto says at first. His eyes grow distant, absently petting Umbra as he stares across the fields. Noctis digs out another biscuit, patient to wait until Prompto shakes his head. “It’s how Lady Lunafreya and I met, didn’t she tell you?”

Noctis shakes his head - it hadn’t mattered when they were children, living day by day together, and he’d been too heartbroken to discuss Prompto at all when he’d vanished. It hadn’t ever come up over the years and he realizes there’s a lot he doesn’t know.

“I found her one day and she was injured, so I took her home and took care of her. Pryna was my first friend in Tenebrae,” Prompto says, gaze stuck on Umbra’s fur. “I put up posters around town trying to find her home. Imagine my surprise when Lady Lunafreya showed up in person with a guard in tow. I thought for sure I was being arrested.” He laughs, but it’s a small, strained noise.

“That’s how we became friends. After school I’d meet her in those gardens when she was free and we used to write letters when she couldn’t come.” His eyes meet Noctis’ as he smiles wryly. “And then a sullen little boy showed up and joined us, taken under Lunafreya’s care. He was pretty cool I guess, never thought he’d turn out to be the Prince of Lucis.”

He nudges Noctis with his shoulder playfully and Noctis smiles. Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place, but there’s still missing pieces - edges that don’t quite fit and nag in the back of his mind. He should wait, shouldn’t ask until Prompto wishes to tell but, “Luna said you were a refugee?”

Prompto’s shoulders slump and Noctis wants more than nothing to snatch the question right out of the air and shove it back. “Yeah, I was,” he answers and Noctis’ brows jump.

“Then how did-”

“Hey! You done swapping love notes over there?”

They both jump, Prompto toppling over onto the wet grass as Noctis glares up at Gladio stood on the edge of the haven. Damnit, he’d been on to something there. 

“Dinner’s ready!”

It doesn’t feel late enough for it, but dusk has fallen in full swing, the dregs of sunlight streaking across violet clouds as they make their way back with Umbra in tow, nails clicking against the stone.

“Love notes?” asks Prompto, and Noctis rolls his eyes.

“Umbra carries a notebook back and forth between Luna and I,” he says. “Before Tenebrae regained some of its autonomy it was necessary to talk freely and once it had I guess the novelty never wore off.” 

“Woah!” Prompto does a double take, staring at Umbra who’s pressed up against Ignis in search of scraps. “How does he make it so far? Take the ferry?”

The image of Umbra paying fare and boarding a boat on his own is enough to make Noctis laugh and in his chair Gladio grins at his plate. “Nah, I think… I’m not entirely sure of the specifics. Umbra and Pryna have been with the Fleurets for a long time. As in, dating back to their oldest known relative.”

“Immortal… dogs?”

They grab their dinners and Noctis shrugs. “Lots of our history has been lost overtime, same as the citadel paintings. You could ask Luna more when we get there, I bet she knows more than I do.”

Across the way, Ignis sneaks a bite of meat to a smug Umbra before stroking along his back and Gladio snorts. “Still a dog, immortal guardian or no.” 

Noctis settles into his camping chair, bypassing his plate to open the bag first. The weight comes from a box, fairly decent in size and wrapped in crinkly paper, but he skips over it for the journal instead. On one of the last filled pages is his own message - a frantic scribble about the Niflheim envoy approaching the city - while the other is lined with Luna’s neat, looping cursive.

_‘Congratulations on your engagement! I hope this finds you well. Enclosed is something for our dear Prompto - an engagement gift of sorts. I’m delighted to hear you have found him once more and I’m looking forward to your stop in Tenebrae and our impending reunion. We have much to discuss. Give Ignis and Gladiolus my best. Lunafreya.’_

Below the note is a doodle of herself giving a thumbs up and winking and he smiles fondly, flipping the page. “Iggy can I borrow your pen?” There’s a pause as Ignis pulls it from his pocket to pass over and Noctis scribbles an answering note.

_‘Got your present, I promise to give it to Prompto. Although Gladio and Ignis are understandably worried about the compromise with Niflheim, I’m glad I found him too. It will be nice for the three of us to be together again.’_

He winces at his stilted words, but he has never been good at these things. _Expressing_ himself. Although if Luna minded surely she would have given up on him years ago, she’s always read him between the lines better than he can explain himself.

He shuts the notebook, swapping it with the box from the bag before tying back to Umbra’s back and giving him a pat goodbye. The dog brushes up against Prompto’s leg for one last scratch before he’s off like a shot across the valley.

“And how is Lady Lunafreya faring?” asks Ignis as Noctis turns to his meal.

“She’s well. Offers us her congratulations,” he says, making eye contact with Prompto over their forks. “It will be good to see her again.”

Not to mention nerve wracking. After all, he and Luna had been assuming they’d be the ones joined in a political union, and while neither of them held romantic interest for the other, her opinion mattered a lot to him as a friend and confidant.

Only when all their plates have been cleared and set aside does Noctis draw attention to the extra addition to Luna’s letter.

“Uhm… this is for you,” he says, holding the nondescript box out to Prompto. The distance between their chairs feels twice as large. “From Luna.”

“Me?” Prompto’s voice cracks at the end, but Noctis waits until he reaches out, hand hesitating before he takes it.

They all watch as he stares at the gift with glassy eyes. The evening shadows have lengthened along his features, the blaze of the fire reflecting off his hair and silver bangle, and when he moves to open the box he stops, glancing up as if to ask for permission. Noctis dips his head encouragingly and Prompto peels back the tape, fingers taking care so as not to tear the wrapping paper covered in little yellow flowers. 

Gladio and Ignis both shoot him question glances, but Noctis shakes his head minutely. Luna hadn’t given any hints as to what it would be, though he wishes she had when Prompto opens the box and freezes before his face crumples like wet paper.

“Oh dear,” says Ignis and Noctis sits up ramrod straight as a spring of tears leak out of Prompto’s eyes, catching the light of the fire as they streak down his cheeks. 

A few sniffles slip out and he lifts a sleek, black camera from the box, cradling it against his chest and choking out one sob. This is bad. A rising sense of bewilderment and panic is swelling in Noctis’ chest and he turns to Ignis and Gladio for guidance but they look as lost and out of depth as he feels. Prompto is crying and he’s utterly helpless, hands tense in his lap and wanting desperately to reach out and comfort him, but unsure of whether or not it’d be accepted. 

“What’s wrong,” Gladio asks and reaches for the camera. “Was it this?

Prompto flinches so hard he almost upsets the chair, curling further over the camera as if to shield it, and rubs the back of his arm over his face to try and stop the tears. He isn’t very successful. “S-sorry, I… didn’t think she’d remember.”

“‘Course she did. She’s your friend,” says Noctis, as matter-of-fact as he can manage with his heart breaking and Prompto’s face scrunches again. 

He takes a shuddering breath, wiping his eyes again before offering up a hesitant smile. “It’s been a lot lately.”

“I can only imagine,” murmurs Ignis, finger to his lip and eyes narrowed in thought. 

After all, Prompto had gone through the tension of the treaty much longer than they had. He’d known before Lucis even caught wind of the approaching envoy and possibly much longer, depending on how far back the proposal had been in the works.

Before any of them can react, Prompto lifts the camera and the shutter snaps. Noctis jumps at the bright flash, blinking away the spots in his vision as Prompto laughs, thick and open; wild in a way he hasn’t heard before. 

“You all,” he says, breaking off again into giggles, but Noctis is much happier to have them as opposed to the tears, “look _so_ worried.”

The clouds part once more and the boy Noctis knew from so long ago shines through the cracks, setting him at ease. It’s as if the further they get from the city, the brighter he becomes. Prompto runs a damp hand through his hair, oblivious to the way it makes a few locks puff up. Secretly, Noctis thinks it’s a good look on him.

On wash up duty for the night, Gladio collects their dishes and Noctis settles back into his own chair, content to close his eyes and listen to the crickets and slosh of the water in the slough as Prompto fiddles with the settings on his new camera.

“You know it used to have a second eye?”

Confused, Noctis shares a glance with Ignis. “The catoblepas?” he guesses.

“Legend says it turned all who met its gaze to stone,” Prompto continues, and lowers the camera from where he was peering through the viewfinder to trace over the edges with a bittersweet grin. “It got lonely - I mean, who wouldn’t - and when it was too much to bear, it swallowed its own eye to hide it from the world.”

Noctis stares out into the dark, listening to the lumbering footsteps and rumbling from the giant creatures out in the slough, unsure of what to think. It feels heavier than a legend - a touch close to home, like a story told in retrospect.

“A great sacrifice,” says Ignis lowly and Prompto yawns. “Though I do believe it’s time for bed.” 

He rises to help Gladio finish up and Noctis’ eyes droop - he missed a nap in the car, after all, and right now his bedroll sounds like the comfiest place in all of Eos. He stumbles to his feet, Prompto not far behind with his camera looped around his neck as he rubs his puffy eyes and splotchy cheeks. 

Before Noctis can duck inside he’s halted by a tug on his jacket sleeve, Prompto refusing to meet his eyes as he fiddles with his silver bangle. “Will you take a picture of one with me?”

“A catoblepas?”

As soon as the words pass his lips he regrets how incredulous he sounds, Prompto stuttering to backtrack. “In the morning of course, it’s too dark right now. I read a lot about them when I was younger and I think they’re super neat. I thought - I don’t know, uh, nevermind sorry, it’s dumb.”

He goes to duck around him, but Noctis’ hand shoots out to stop him in his tracks. “That sounds nice,” he says, knowing already the words will grace his epitaph as he replays the words _in the morning._ “I’d like that a lot.”

Maybe it won’t be so bad, he thinks as Prompto lights up beautifully at the agreement. He’d loathe to pull the rug from under his feet, especially after such an emotional evening already. Although he’d been useless to help before, this... this he can do, and as Prompto vibrating with excitement as they ready for bed, Noctis can’t find it in himself to regret it.

* * *

Noctis regrets it.

He wonders why the hell he’s being shaken awake so damn early in the morning - tent full of pale white light instead of the golden yellow he’s come to know so well - but as soon as Prompto’s excited face blinks into view, the early hour doesn’t seem _as_ bad. 

They’re alone, Ignis and Gladio having both beaten them out of bed, and Prompto only leaves him to dress when he’s sure Noctis won’t fall back asleep again. It’s slow going, his sleep-clumsy fingers fumbling, but eventually he drags himself outside and blinks in the first tentative rays of dawn.

“I’ll admit, I’m kinda impressed you got him out of bed,” says Gladio. 

“Gotta be useful for something.” Prompto says and there’s something wonky about it, but Noctis can barely contemplate before he’s pointed towards the nearby trees. “So, game plan. There’s a certain type of mushroom growing around here catoblepas love. We pick a few, get close enough to lure one in, and snap the coolest picture of our lives, good? Good.”

“Wait, what?”

Too late, Prompto grabs his hand and drags him along, Noctis following blindly through the grass damp with morning dew. 

They spend the better part of the morning with their noses to the ground, poking around the bases of the trees for handfuls of little spongy mushrooms as the sun crests the eastern mountains. The steady hum of insects is rising by the time Prompto dumps a few more into his waiting hands and says, “This should be enough.”

It’s not far to the edge of Neeglyss Pond, water stretching out across the bottom of the slough in a watery blue-green. The catoblepas nearby are impossibly tall up close - white, shaggy fur trailing in the murky water where its neck swoops low, uneven haunches swaying as it walks.

“Are you sure about this?” Noctis asks as Prompto guides him into position, mushrooms dumped into his outstretched hands as the water laps at the heels of his boots. 

In the corner of his eye he can see the tusks, needle sharp at the ends and longer than he is tall, and his fingers curl nervously around the mushrooms.

“It’s gonna be fine.” Prompto’s smile disarms every thought racing through Noctis’ head. “So, stand here until my signal and strike a pose, okay?” He retreats to a spot further back and gets into position with his camera. 

A breeze sweeps through the valley, rippling the water and Noctis wonders how long it’ll take for the catoblepas to smell its favorite treat, which is hopefully the mushrooms and not him. His ears tune in to the sloshing of the water behind him, slow and steady as the creature drifts closer, and the hair on the back of Noctis’ neck rises when the water splashes over the toes of his boots. 

“Now?” he hisses through his teeth, nearly losing his nerve when the catoblepas rumbles, the vibrations rattling his bones.

Prompto hasn’t moved, hands steady as he peers through the viewfinder like a frozen statue. “Not yet, a little more…”

A puff of warm air shifts Noctis’ hair, obscuring his vision, and his heart lodges somewhere in his throat, thrumming with thrill and fear all wrapped in one as his body poises to run. Its breath smells _horrible_.

“Prompto!”

“Now! Strike a pose!”

Noctis drops the mushrooms to the ground, crossing his arms and tilting his head back like he’s done in photoshoots before, hoping it looks cooler than how dorky he feels. The shutter clicks ring out in a quick succession before Prompto lets the camera fall around his neck to wave his arms. 

“Got it! Get out of there!”

Noctis pulls a small dagger from the armiger and warps out of range, grabbing Prompto’s hand and dashing in no other direction than _away_. The catoblepas snuffles happily as it stoops to eat its treat and Prompto’s laughter follows them in their escape, boisterous and bright.

When Noctis deems them to be a safe distance from the pool, he drops their hands and Prompto doubles over in his laughter, eyes sparkling in the rising sunlight. Noctis can’t help but join in, adrenaline a livewire in his veins, same as the rush after a battle. 

“You almost got me killed!” he says jokingly, but Prompto’s expression pinches - there and gone so fast Noctis wonders if he imagined it. “That picture better be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Prompto’s grin is smug when he holds the camera out for inspection, though he hesitates when Noctis takes ahold of it. The picture is better than any featured spread of him in Insomnia Stars - filtered light a flat grey that brings out the greens and blues of the slough and the catoblepas stark white behind Noctis with its tusk hovering over his head. He _does_ look pretty badass. 

“Gotta admit Prom, it came out amazing.”

The last few giggles slip from Prompto’s lips as he ducks his head bashfully, a sweet smile upturning the corners of his lips. “Thank you for doing that with me,” he says as he takes the camera back, fiddling with the buttons.

“Sure.” It comes out short and awkward and Noctis wants to hit himself, unsure of how to reassure the vulnerability in Prompto’s voice.

When they get back to the haven, Prompto launches into an epic regaling of their adventure over breakfast, waving his camera in Ignis and Gladio’s faces until they get him to steady his hand enough to see the picture.

“This is… wow,” says Gladio and Prompto fidgets. 

“What he means to say is that the composition is lovely Prompto,” says Ignis, handing back the camera as a lively rosiness blooms in Prompto’s cheeks. “You did well.”

The contrast is as stark as night and day - the spaces where Prompto had been hesitant and quiet now fill with a crackle of excitement which doesn’t dampen. It’s like a switch was flipped, the polluted smoke clearing from the air as Prompto spills out more words and sentences than any of them have heard from him all together. It’s not a stretch to say Noctis is basking in them, soaking up as much of his sunlight as possible.

With Lestallum awaiting their arrival, the camping equipment is loaded up in record time, four pairs of hands working faster than three now that Prompto’s settled into the routine. By the time Noctis slouches into the soft leather of the car his eyes are drooping, demanding the sleep the early hour adventure had so rudely robbed him of.

He drifts in and out of a doze before startling awake by a shout, Prompto leaning up in his seat to peer over Ignis at the Disc of Cauthess reeling by. “It’s huge up close!” he gasps and Gladio snorts, not sparing a glance from his book.

“It does hold a more stunning impression in person, doesn’t it,” says Ignis. 

They’re on the border, about to slip into Cleigne as the heat from the meteor radiates in waves as they pass. Noctis readjusts his position, preparing to doze off again when Prompto speaks again, much more subdued.

“That looks Gralean.”

He’s pointing to a large, blocky building stark against the greenery and another highway branching off to the south with gates as tall and foreboding as the windowless walls behind them.

“It’s one of your bases, Aracheole Stronghold” says Gladio, scratching at his neck as he marks his page with a thumb. “Hopefully we won’t be running into any MTs.”

“Empties?” Prompto asks, syllables stilted around the slang.

Noctis frowns. “Magitek soldiers.”

“More like robotic rustbuckets,” Gladio mumbles, stretching his arms over his head and Prompto hunches in on himself. Noctis elbows him in the side, _hard._ “Hey! What- oh.”

The exasperation rolls off of Ignis in waves. “The bases here in Lucis will be withdrawn as per the treaty’s requirements.”

“That’s… good then,” says Prompto and the car falls quiet.

Noctis doesn’t get the chance to nod off again before they’re entering the half tunnel pressed into the side of the mountain leading into Lestallum. As the pillars slide by, the disc flickers like the reel of an old cinema film until the road branches out of the slope and into the streets. They’re flooded with crowds, alive and vibrant in the midday sun as the scent of rich spices floats along the breeze with the plucked tune of street performers close behind.

The town hasn’t changed much since they last were here, colorful buildings set into the ridge overlooking the lands to the east, but it’s population has grown with the stream of refugees from near the southern frontlines. It’s evident in the expanded maze of streets and melting pot of people already crowding the streets in festivities, celebrating the hope of returning home - some for the first time in years. 

As soon as the car engine is off Gladio is out of the car, dialling his phone in hand and followed by Prompto who stretches, sun glinting off his silver bangle. “It’s so warm here.”

“The novelty will wear,” says Ignis, already rolling up the sleeves of his button up.

Noctis shifts in his royal black clothes and raises a hand to shield his eyes as he squints towards the viewpoint set on the edge of town. “It’s because of the meteor. The whole city is run on its energy.”

“Let’s go” says Gladio when he returns, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Sightseeing can wait ‘til after we meet up with Iris.”

He sets off down the main thoroughfare, clearing a path through the crowd easily in his wake and Noctis has to jog every few steps to keep up. Close behind, Ignis ushers along an overwhelmed Prompto, his eyes darting to catch all the colors and sighs of the people out in mass - setting up their food stalls and decorations as children dart around underfoot as they play a game from the outskirts of Cleigne and women in uniform off work from their jobs at the power plant relax in the shade with tall drinks. Many in the crowd gawk and chatter at their arrival and Noctis hunches, unused to the attention here. 

Before, he used to be able to run about the town freely without bother - Lestallum was always less interested in the gossip side of Lucis than Insomnia, but with the treaty it seems even that has changed.

When they slip down a quieter ally, Prompto asks, “Iris?”

“Gladio’s sister,” says Ignis. “We’ll be staying near her during our time in the city.”

There’s no room for further explanation as they enter a less populated courtyard with a boxy art-piece fountain in the middle. The Leville is posted in the far corner, cursive script across the sign and upstairs balcony doors shut tight against the midday heat.

“Gladdy!” Iris launches into Gladio’s arms, both of them nearly topping before he regains his footing and they laugh and playfully wrestle before Iris manages to trap him in a headlock.

When Gladio taps out, there’s a proud smile on his face. “Man squirt, what are they feeding you here? You’re going to outgrow Noctis at this rate.”

“Hey!” Noctis frowns, but he can see how much Iris has grown since they last saw her. 

She’s kept her dark hair short, high off her neck in the heat of Lestallum’s sweltering daylight, where it frames her round face. Her older age speaks in the curves of her cheeks and the line of her jaw, training evident in the shadow and tone of her biceps. They’re about eye to eye in height now, but Gladio is right - she only has room to grow - and Noctis feels oddly proud.

“I’m so glad you all are here,” Iris says, smiling brightly.

“Likewise, we are happy to visit you,” says Ignis. “How goes your schooling?”

“Well enough! I’ve been touring the engineering school here for next year, but I haven’t decided if I want to stay or look for universities in Lucis. Only coming home on breaks is wearing on me - and someone needs to watch out for this idiot,” she says and punches Gladio’s arm. He jolts and Noctis feels adequately terrified - one strongarm Amicitia is formidable enough, but two?

“I think we’ve been doing a pretty good job, no?” Noctis jokes and Iris bounces over to him and grabs both of his hands in hers.

“The more eyes on this one, the better.” She laughs at Gladio’s indignant protest before drawing Noctis into a hug and lowering her voice to barely a whisper. “I need to talk to you, play along.”

He’s barely composed his face when she pulls back and smiles still in place. “Congratulations on your engagement! And you…” She pauses, giving Prompto a once over. “You must be Prince Prompto.”

The nerves are rolling off the poor boy in waves, but Iris disregards it entirely as she scoops up his hand and bows in a fluid movement. “I’m Iris Amicitia. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

“And you as well,” says Prompto, though he’s sheet white.

“Oh!” Iris says, clapping her hands together and whirling around with her classic puppy pout, eyes wide and shining. “I’d love to show him around the city, may I?”

“We’ll have to check in with Jared first and settle into our rooms, but after that I don’t see why not,” says Ignis. “As long as His Highness is willing.”

Iris spins back to Prompto, who looks like a baby Anak caught in headlights, and when he nods she claps her hands together in excitement and grins pointedly in Noctis’ direction. “You’ll come with us, won’t you Noct?”

“Uh, right. Yeah,” he says, still reeling from her cryptic message. He can’t think of any reason why she would want to talk to him alone - unless it’s another version of the shovel talk she’d given him about Gladio, but that’s a road he does not want to go down again.

They set off for the hotel, Iris joining arms with Prompto and listing all the things she wants to show him on their tour with Ignis right behind. With the next engagement event on the horizon and Iris’ ominous request something uneasy rises up in Noctis’ chest, but it’s calmed by the hand Gladio places on his shoulder, stroking his thumb along the line of his neck as Noctis melts into the reassuring gesture. 

“Keep an eye on her for me, okay?”

“I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble,” says Noctis, but Gladio’s eyes dart up ahead, mouth set in a thin line.

“It’s not her I’m worried about.”

The uneasiness returns, dropping heavy in Noctis’ gut like wet cement under the baking sun, and as the ever-present future rises in an eclipse of uncertainty, all there is for him to do is follow Gladio through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	9. With Nights Like These, Who Needs the Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe one night to indulge is okay. One night to pretend he’s just Prompto - not Prince Prompto or awkward tagalong Prompto - but himself, out having fun with Noctis. After all, who knows when he’ll experience a festival like this again?_
> 
> Lestallum is hot, but its nights are hotter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest. Chapter. Yet. Please allow me to direct you [THIS WAY](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/174309411627/insomnias-royal-tailor-would-be-absolutely-shook) to some magical art by pigeon-princess of Prompto's engagement event outfits!! Huuuuuuge thank you to her as always for helping push this story along! If you laugh during this chapter, it's probably one of her jokes <33 And again to Tera, my number one fan for encouraging me constantly, and Juli, for beta-ing and being an all around best best friend. Love yall so much.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Dark Side Of Your Room by All Time Low, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

The blast of the air conditioning as they walk through the door sends a shiver down Prompto’s spine. It makes him desperately wish he had worn a jacket, despite the sweltering heat outside, and he would cross his arms to compensate if one wasn’t still locked with Iris’. It seems the only way he’ll be able to separate from her hold is when she is well and ready for him to.

Inside, the Leville is all clean, sweeping lines and soft blue hues with a grand staircase curling along the back wall. Prompto’s fingers twitch for his camera hanging around his neck, wanting to capture the elegant lines of tile and decor, but he refrains.

“You live in a hotel?”

“Sort of,” says Iris, waving to the attendant behind the counter as the others file in behind them. “There’s a section at the back for discounted monthly boarding.”

Footsteps thundering down the stairs is the only warning they get before a young boy bursts into the room in a whirlwind of motion and a cry of “Prince Noctis!” He nearly crashes headfirst into Noctis’ legs, but skids to a stop in the nick of time. Behind him, an elderly gentleman makes his way down the steps, hair grayed and face aged with laughter lines that deepen as he watches the exchange. 

“Did you find it?”

Noctis gives a lopsided smile, making Prompto’s heart thud. “Not this time buddy, sorry. I’ll keep an eye out okay?”

Taclott slumps and the older man tsks. “Now Talcott, what do we say?”

“Thank you for looking,” he says dutifully and perks up. “I’m just excited you’re here!”

Watching them reunite reminds Prompto of how much on the outside he is and he’s released from Iris’ grip as she joins the fray of hugs and handshakes and ruffled hair. The easy relationship between the Amicitia siblings wedges a slice of homesick between his ribs big enough to ache, longing for… for what? Home? Family? He hardly remembers those words at all these days. 

If he misses anyone it would be Aranea, the familiarity of her presence breaking up the monotony of his routine in the keep long after his advanced weapons training with her had ended and she’d once again risen through the ranks of Niflheim’s military. He misses her blunt honesty and the way she treats him like a capable human instead of a fragile trophy in need of a shine or a threat to be kept at arm's length. She’s as close to family as he’s got these days, but it’s hard to think of her and not be worried. He knows she can handle herself, but the resounding anxiety of the impending future makes him want to curl into a ball under a blanket never to resurface and that’s hardly respectable behavior for a prince.

He refocus on observing the newcomers - Iris, who seems kind and steadfast despite her slightly intimidating appearance, Talcott, enviable in his youthful excitement, and the elderly man who he learns is Jared, lifelong caretaker in the service of the Amicitia family.

“Prince Prompto, I presume?” he asks, bowing slightly at the waist.

“Ah, you don’t have to - Prompto’s fine.” 

He fidgets under Jared’s keen gaze and fears it was the wrong thing to say, but the man merely makes a thoughtful noise and gestures to the stairs. “You must all be tired from your travels.” 

Iris and Talcott branch off from the group in one of the upper hallways as Jared leads the rest of them to a single room with two double beds and an en suite. The shuttered doors to the balcony have been thrown open to overlook the courtyard outside, allowing late afternoon sunshine to spill onto the floors. Dust motes twirl in the light as the fans on the walls spin lazily to stir the air and Noctis drops onto the bed nearest the balcony, not bothering with his shoes, much to Ignis’ blatant displeasure.

They take turns washing the grime of traveling and camping off and Prompto sits at the table in the corner and flips through his photos on his new camera. His hands shake whenever he thinks about it too long - Luna sending this all this way for him, after all this time apart. The plastic and metal are grounding under his hands as he tries to fend off the memories of his last one, shattered, pieces falling through his fingers under Ardyn’s casual smile. 

He comes across the picture he’d taken of Noctis with the catoblepas - the muted greens and blues of early morning behind its shaggy white fur and the black of Noctis’ clothes, the contrast beautifully sharp and a stunning capture of Duscae’s allure. Already he misses the lush greens and warm night air as they’d sat around the campfire. Prompto’s never seen so many stars in his life.

In the shower he dares to linger, watching the tepid water swirl down the drain and reveling in how it soothes the oppressive heat. The next engagement event looms in the distance and he thinks of all the stares they’d received on the way into the town, wincing and wondering if there’ll be any way he can drift through it on autopilot. After the disastrous kick off party there’s a good chance it’s only up from there, but he’s still wary. In his experience, there’s always a way for it to get worse too.

By the time he’s freshly clean and toweling his hair, the sun spills low and golden through the balcony doors. He peeks through one and frowns. It feels earlier than the shadows suggest, but perhaps being closer to the mountains stretches out the evening here.

A knock sounds at the door while Gladio’s taking his turn and Ignis opens it to reveal Iris, who smiles and rocks on her heels. “Ready to go?”

Prompto hadn’t realized she’d been serious about the tour - thought it was an offer out of obligation at best. After all, no matter how much Noctis acted otherwise, he’s still an unexpected tagalong, an outsider. _With a burdening engagement at that_.

“Promise to have them home before too late,” Iris jokes with a wink and Ignis smiles wryly over a pile of sorted clothes.

“See that you do.”

Shooting one last worried glance at the closed bathroom door, Prompto trails after the others down the hall. It makes him nervous anytime he’s left alone with Noctis without the watchful eyes of Ignis or Gladio, however brief - if anything goes wrong it’ll fall to him to answer for - but a glance at Iris’ biceps reassures him they’re no less being kept track of.

When they step out into the courtyard again the sunlight is less abrasive, soft shades of orange and red staining the sky as shadows spill across the ground like ink dripping into every crack and crevice. Lestallum is beautiful in its own way, the brick and plaster work a warmer backdrop against the industrial framework than that of Gralea or Insomnia. Already its people are relaxing on their veranda balconies, the sizzle of food and laughter fresh on the sultry breeze.

Iris puts a finger to her lip, tilting her head as she thinks. “I think we’ll start with the marketplace and work our way around, sound okay?”

“You’re the leader,” says Noctis, lazily stretching his arms overhead. Prompto tries very hard not to stare at the strip of skin it reveals.

They set off down the streets, winding through the narrow alleyways packed with crowds that have only grown with the late hour. Afraid of being separated and lost, Prompto sticks close to Noctis’ side and steadfastly ignores the looks of recognition sent their way. Thankfully no one approaches them, too eager to begin their own evening revelries.

Outdoor terraces boasting an abundance of colorful chairs and umbrellas along the main avenue are packed full, relaxed chatter ringing down from various rooftop bars and restaurants as the sluggish heat of the day drains away. Iris leads them down another alley that widens into an open plaza with dozens of vendor tents pitched in an open-air market.

They wander around browsing trinkets and Prompto sneaks pictures of the hustle and bustle - patterned fabrics fluttering in the wind, intricate metalwork and jewelry, the fresh fruits and vegetables and all the people who linger over them. He snaps one of Noctis handing over gil in exchange for a few spices to a merchant from the northern islands and when he catches Prompto watching, he grins and waves the bundled sprigs proudly. 

“For Ignis. He loves these.”

His thoughtfulness for Ignis sends another pang through the center of Prompto’s chest, but he merely smiles and moves further down the aisle. 

A flash of yellow catches his eye and he drifts towards it unconsciously, weak grin blooming into full out excitement. The stall is aimed more toward the children darting around, but he lingers over the wares anyway - everything from blankets and jewelry to figurines and plushies - trailing his fingers over them until Noctis finds him there.

“Chocobos, huh?” he asks with a small, amused smile.

Prompto flushes in embarrassment. He hadn’t bothered to hide his excitement at the sign of the chocobo post in Duscae, but sharing his unfettered adoration feels vulnerable. “They’re cute,” he chokes out and swiftly averts his eyes. 

He brushes a finger against the plume of a palm-sized plushie before wheeling back for Iris and finding her across the way. She seems preoccupied, frowning as she stares unfocused into the distance, and although though her expression smoothes out when they rejoin her, Prompto’s stomach flips nervously.

When they’re finished wandering, she leads them down a side street far less crowded than the others have been. It winds further back into Lestallum before turning sharply alongside a wire fence on the edge of town. There’s a steep drop on the other side down into a crater with clusters of jagged, glowing shards like those glittering near the Disc of Cauthess. A large building rises from the center like a pillar, circular and blocky in a utilitarian style which values functionality over appearance, linked to the town by a single wide bridge suspended high over the ground.

“The power plant,” says Iris and they crowd against the fence, though it’s a new sight to Prompto alone.

It’s quiet here, muted sounds of the crowds and music faint on the breeze that shifts the pressing air around them. It’s hotter standing over the source of the city’s power and blue energy pulses from the crystalline shards in waves. The sun has nearly set, shadows aging Iris’ face as she stares down into the dark, hand loosely curled in the chain link fence.

“I want to ask you something,” she says and Noctis stiffens, his eyes darting over to Prompto.

“Why not ask Gladio?”

Following his gaze, Iris frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t want to worry him if it’s nothing. He has enough on his plate right now.”

Prompto grips at the chainlink of the fence to ground himself. He wishes she’d say it already and get it over with, because the longer she takes searching for the right words, the longer he’s convinced he’s in deep trouble. Maybe he’s been found out. Maybe she’s dug up something on him from Niflheim. How much does she know? The whole story? Or only part? Either way it’s a problem and he stares into the trench, wondering how far down it goes.

“Daylight is disappearing,” she says instead and he freezes in surprise. He wonders if it means something metaphorical to Noctis, but he looks as confused as Prompto feels.

“What does that even mean?”

Flipping around, Iris leans back against the fence and clenches her jaw. “I have a friend working at the power plant. She let slip that they noticed the nights are getting longer. The lights have been running more than they should for this time of year and when they did some tests they found something in the atmosphere. I don’t really…”

She stares up at the sky and shrugs. “It’s some sort of mutated organism affecting how much sunlight makes it to Eos and it's getting worse. They sent word to Insomnia for further tests and I wanted to know if you’d heard anything about it before you left.”

Brows pinching, Noctis shakes his head. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”

Prompto thinks back over the course of their trip - the late sunrises and early sunsets, all the lengthening shadows he thought were due to Lucis’ geography - and his heart sinks, remembering Ardyn’s alluding words in a snap. Things are setting in motion faster than he can keep up and he grips the fence tight enough to press grooves into his palm.

He realizes the others are watching him in concern and Prompto tries to calm down as Iris sets a tentative hand on his arm. “Do you know something?”

“No,” he says quietly and Noctis and Iris exchange a glance, but she doesn’t remove her hand, instead patting him gently.

“We don’t know if it’s something to be worried about yet,” she says gently. “It may be nothing.”

“And if it _is_ something, we’ll figure out what to do when the time comes,” says Noctis and Prompto finishes pulling himself back together enough to offer them a weak smile. Right, he'll face his problems when the time comes.

Although the sun has slipped away, the stars hide behind the lights of Lestallum’s borders and the darkness weighs heavier around them than before.

“Let’s go to the outlook,” says Iris, making an attempt at her previous cheerfulness. “The view is incredible at night.”

By the time they weave through the winding streets out to the front of the town, Prompto is getting his bearings. The open air feels less stifling compared to the heat still trapped between the buildings, but despite it the outlook is sparsely populated with only a few couples out on strolls together and a group of teenagers perched on top of a table at the far side. Everyone in Lestallum goes about their lives, the impending peace hanging overhead with no idea something far worse may be brewing on the horizon. 

Prompto likes to think he would’ve enjoyed a simple existence, in another life - grown up and lived with the passing questions of his own significance rather than bearing the weight of one pressed onto him - but he looks to Noctis and quietly lays the thought to rest.

They all lean against the railing together and Prompto snaps pictures of the meteorite in the distance, wisps of glowing coils reaching to the heavens. From here he can see the Niflheim base, a blemish on the landscape before them and he tries to avoid staring at for too long. Noctis nudges closer, his arm a reassuring press and as Prompto leans into the small comfort he wonders what the hell he’s going to do.

He lets the thoughts go and quiets his mind enough to fully appreciate the view before him, the warmth at his side, and the arid air filling his lungs. 

“Thank you for the tour,” he says when they head back to the Leville and Iris smiles.

“No problem! It was a lot of fun showing you all the sights.” She pauses in the hallway. “The novelty of Lestallum tends to wear off for me since I live here.” 

She leaves them there, heading for the residential suites, and Noctis hesitates outside of their room, staring at the doorknob with a faraway gleam in his eye.

“Are you going to tell them?” Prompto asks.

“Huh?” Noctis startles, then frowns. “Maybe.” He doesn’t offer anymore explanation and opens the door.

Inside, the table has been cleared to make room for a large map and Ignis leans over it, pen in hand, with Gladio sat next to him. They both look up when he and Noctis enter, calm and blank faced before Ignis returns to the task at hand.

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” he asks. 

Gladio doesn’t look away, and Prompto fidgets when his gaze follows them across the room. There’s something tired about his eyes - wariness maybe, or resignation.

Noctis flops onto the bed and ticks off his fingers. “Iris took us to the market, the power plant, and the overlook, so I’d say it was successful.”

“Lestallum is beautiful,” says Prompto and sets his camera on the bedside table to gather up his sleep clothes and toothbrush. He’s reluctant to let go at all, has barely parted from it since he lifted it from the box, but it’s safer out here than by the sink.

Wasting no time, he scurries off to the bathroom and relaxes when the door shuts between him and the others. They keep up a light conversation, the low murmur of their voices carrying through the wood, and Prompto busies himself with getting ready for bed. 

He manages well enough at first, changing methodically and washing his face, but when he catches sight of his reflection he pauses to rub the skin under his eyes, dark with stress, and brush his hair back. Despite the long days they’ve spent in the sun and the reoccurring sunburns that threaten to plague him, his skin has remained pale. Perhaps there are more freckles spanning across his nose than before, but they’re all that’s changed. 

It doesn’t feel that small of a difference - doesn’t express the miles he’s come, both from Niflheim and who he used to be. Already their journey is a whirlwind of change and with the storm looming in the distance it’s only going to get worse from here.

_The sunlight is disappearing_ , he thinks and grips the sink so hard his knuckles blanch. 

This must be a part of the plan - the timing too perfect to be coincidental - and he can’t help the panic rising up, his breaths coming out short and loud as his vision tunnels. What will the others think if he passes out? He can’t let them know how close he is to spiraling into a full out meltdown, but it’s so, so hard without someone there to coach him through it.

A knock on the door breaks him out of his thoughts. 

“Everything all right?” It’s Ignis, smooth accent level and familiar.

Prompto gathers up his dirty clothes and opens the door, hoping he doesn’t appear as thinly stretched as he feels. “Sorry,” he says, offering a small smile. “Zoned out.”

He skirts by Ignis, who takes his place in the restroom, and makes for bed. Gladio’s already sprawled out on the other, shirt divested and showing enough skin to make Prompto skitter away, eyes fixed firmly to the floor.

When he crawls under the sheets he’s acutely aware of Noctis watching him closely. “You okay?”

“Never better,” he says cheerfully and tries not to wince at how off it sounds. “Tired.” He rolls over to settle in and effectively ends the conversation. When Ignis finishes up, the lights are switched off for the night and Prompto closes his eyes and tried to sleep.

Overhead, the fans whir softly as they stir the air that settles around them like a heavy curtain. They leave the balcony doors open in hopes of catching a breeze, sounds filtering in from the streets below. Prompto’s skin feels too tight, the cool sheet settled over him a stark contrast to the pile of blankets he’s accustomed to back home. He can’t stop thinking about the darkness, about the tour progressing and bringing the future closer and closer.

The next morning passes in a blur of rushed breakfast and getting ready for the event. It’s planned to go along much the same as it did in Galdin - only bigger and with a festival throughout the streets afterwards. Prompto’s nerves feel as though they may jump out of his skin as he digs through his bag to find an outfit, which is slightly difficult seeing as its mostly full of clothes in varying shades of muted tones.

“A prince needs to look his best,” Ardyn had said as they waited for the tailor to size the next outfit correctly. Prompto tried not to lean away from his hand as it reached out to adjust his sleeve. “For his people and his country. Although, I’m sure your beloved will appreciate it all the same.”

Prompto avoids meeting Noctis’ eyes as he slips into the bathroom to dress. He’d chosen the lightest material he could find, wary of the rising heat of the day, and the fabric whispers over his skin as he pulls on the outfit, frowning at the mirror as he makes sure nothing’s twisted and corrects his posture to feign confidence.

He winces in sympathy at the dress clothes the others have pulled on. Noctis is in the same outfit from Galdin Quay, freshly dry cleaned and wrinkle-free as Gladio helps him loop his tie into a knot and Prompto frowns, wondering if he brought anything else to wear.

They’re shuffled off for the event before long and Prompto’s surprised to find the courtyard in front of the Leville completely empty save a couple stragglers. There’s a great deal of noise coming from the direction of the main walkway in the center of town, but instead of heading for it they’re led down consecutive side streets leading out of town.

When the road comes into view Noctis draws near, offering his arm again in a mirror of the first time and Prompto gladly takes it as the volume of the crowd rises. The road is blocked off on either side of the main street, redirecting traffic down and through the parking lot a level down on the outlook. The level below that is packed full, but it’s nothing compared to the main boulevard leading into Lestallum.

Dealing the public in Gralea has always been a lowkey, controlled affair - talk shows with pre-scripted questions and small, brief meet and greets with his fans. The sheer magnitude of the public here must be three times as many people here than in Galdin, maybe more, and Prompto feels faint at the sight, gripping Noctis’ arm tight.

A constructed platform sits against the railing of the topmost level to be seen by everyone and several event employees clear a path to get them to the center. Prompto can feel the eyes on them from all directions as they’re led into place, and when their names are announced Noctis squeezes his hand as they step up onstage.

It’s disorienting looking out over the flood of cheering people, but Prompto digs out his publicity smile and waves. The lively response is staggering in comparison to the general air of wariness in Galdin and it seems Lestallum has held nothing back - lines of tents, food stalls, and games set up along the walkways for the festival. They’re released to the public with an official announcement for the celebrations to begin and they descend into the mass to interact and mingle, an impromptu line forming to greet them with handshakes and smiles.

“We are excited for the chance to return home,” says an elderly lady, her hand soft and veiny in his.

“Most of Lestallum is made up of refugees right now,” says a plant worker after she’s nearly broken both of their hands in her grip. “We’ve been happy to help out, but I think everyone is eager to have their elbow room again.”

Lestallum is vastly different than Prompto had been taught about in his lessons - the final stepping stone to capturing Lucis, full of soldiers prepared to hold their fort. 

Instead, he finds a plethora of people from all cultures and backgrounds seeking refuge, safety. Not for the first time he wonders if any of his tutors have ever stepped foot outside a Gralean border and riles the information to reassess later.

The prospect of peace for those who’ve lived along the frontlines seems a welcome relief, their union a bright light at the end of a dark tunnel. It’s such a change in attitude from those in east Lucis and he shifts uncomfortably with every show of gratitude.

If anyone is displeased, they don’t make a point to voice it - or at least they don’t care to wait in line long enough to be able to, what with so many other things to participate in. A band sets up somewhere along the plaza, a background to the conversational din as Prompto tries his best to relax. He stays as far away as possible from the railing, reluctant for a repeat of the incident at Galdin, and thankfully Noctis sticks to his side like glue. Ignis and Gladio never stray far either, chatting idly with guests nearby and at least one of their gazes on them at all times.

Prompto isn’t sure how long they’re out there - long enough for his arms to feel sticky against the fabric of his sleeves and to lose track of just how _many_ hands he’s shaken. It feels like they haven’t even made a dent in the line as they’re guided away, another employee apologizes to the remaining people. Prompto feels bad to know they waited in line for him - for them - only to be cut off now when he’d always made time to greet everyone at the events back home, but he can hardly protest with how utterly spent he feels in heat. 

They slip back through the side alleys to the hotel where Ignis directs them down a different hall and into the living room of a suite where Iris awaits. Prompto slumps into a chair and closes his eyes, letting the air conditioning slowly cool off the thick fog clouding his brain. Water is passed around and Gladio bursts into the room bearing a multitude of take out boxes stacked precariously on top of each other.

“I didn’t know what all we were craving so I got a little of everything,” he says sheepishly when Ignis fixes him with a pointed stare.

Right away Noctis digs in heartily to a chikatrice dish and they all settle around the table to pass the boxes around. A majority are full of things Prompto has never even heard of - all equally mouth-watering in presentation and smell - and before he knows it, his plate is piled with portions of everything.

“This is amazing,” he sighs and promptly dives in, trying to taste as much as he can as he listens to the others discuss the ongoing festivities outside.

“I hear there’s a scavenger hunt,” says Iris.

Gladio snorts, hand covered in sticky sauce from the skewers he’s working on. “Oh yeah? What’s the prize?”

“Dunno, but we should be a team!”

“Bet Ignis can help,” says Noctis around a mouthful of garula steak.

Ignis rolls his eyes. “You only wish for me to solve the riddles _for_ you.”

“Hmm am I that obvious?”

Prompto snorts at the blank expression on Ignis’ face, settling low in his seat as he slows down. It’s comforting being surrounded by people relaxing and bantering with one another in fun as opposed to stone quiet meals punctuated with finely tuned jabs. The easy familiarity threatens to reignite the flicker of envy from earlier, but he chooses to enjoy floating on the edges of it instead - included by his proximity.

Halfway through their meal Jared and Talcott resurface - the latter decked out with two balloons and face paint depicting him as a coeurl. He books it over to the table, snatching a skewer and tearing into it with a fervor that makes Jared tsk even as he smiles and disappears into his room. Prompto’s quickly engaged in Talcott’s tale of the sparring ring and the contestant who lasted three full rounds.

“Are you going to go check out all the games?” he asks. The thought of going back into the swarm of people brings back Prompto’s nausea in the blink of an eye and judging by Ignis’ grimace he’s thinking along the same lines.

Noctis hunches. “C’mon you can’t make us go through all of that and _not_ let us enjoy the party they’re throwing.”

“One of us will have to come with you,” says Gladio, face blank as he sets down his final skewer.

“We’ll be fine for a few hours don’t you think? You guys need a break too.”

A beat of silence before Ignis says, “Absolutely not. You’ll likely be hounded the minute you go out.”

“Oh!”

They all glance to Iris, who’s staring at Talcott with a thoughtful expression as she smiles. “I think I have an idea.”

* * *

Noctis is strangely focused as he scoops up a glob of hair gel and Prompto shifts in his new clothes once again.

“They’re too big for me,” Iris had said as she passed them over. “You can keep them.”

The pants are a muted tan coeurl print and they’re _tight_ , but they fit, clinging to his legs and hips while still being stretchy enough for him to move. He tugs at the black tank top, watching how the criss-crossing silver lines catch the light.

Wary, he leans forward when Noctis gestures to him and at the first brush through his hair, Prompto’s eyes flutter shut. The process is rhythmic - Noctis dragging his fingers as he works, tugging and arranging the locks to sit how he wants before securing it with more gel. It’s calming, and strangely intimate, stirring something in Prompto he hasn’t felt in… since before he can remember.

He tries not to lean into the touch when Noctis pulls away. “There.”

“Finished then?” asks Ignis from over by the coffee table next to where Talcott has occupied himself with cactaur figurines laid out across the floor. The same map from the night before is spread across the table, a pencil in hand as Ignis circles something. When he looks up, he double takes so hard Prompto glances away shyly.

Before he can say anything the door opens, Prompto nearly jumping out of his skin as Gladio stomps inside. “Well it took ages, but I finally managed to convince a vendor to -” He stops short, squinting as he peers from Prompto to Noctis and back again before his eyebrows shoot up. “Huh, maybe this will work after all.”

“I’m a miracle worker,” says Iris and she flops into the other chair next to Prompto, resting her chin on the back of it with her eyes twinkling mischievously. “And you dared to doubt me.”

“Hey, I’m the one who did his hair,” says Noctis archily, slumping down in his seat.

Crossing his arms, Gladio tilts his head as he considers Prompto’s hair. “Noct, what exactly were you going for?”

Silence.

“Up?”

Gladio breaks into raucous laughter. “It looks like a chocobo’s tailfeathers.”

That doesn’t sound so bad, Prompto thinks, but his hand still shoots up to his hair in defense. Iris knocks it away, making grabby hands for the bags in Gladio’s hold until he passes them over, still laughing as he takes a seat. 

“Well I think it’s _great,_ ” she says as she pulls out a couple different colored palettes.

“Can I do Noct?” shouts Talcott. Iris shoots Noctis a helpless look, but he shrugs and sits next to him on the floor. Gladio passes another palette their way, but Prompto’s soon distracted by Iris tilting his face up.

Her fingers wiggle thoughtfully over the colors, humming a tune as she decides on a deep violet and dips a brush in. The paint is cool against Prompto’s cheek, bristles soft as they sweep as broad line underneath his eye, and she runs over it a few times to darken the pigment, stretching it back to his hairline before wiping the brush and repeating the process.

Prompto zones out, lost in the soft motions and touches as she works. It’s meditative, the easy repetition of paint strokes broken up by a line of dots along the rise of his cheek.

“All done,” she says, setting aside the kit to admire her work.

“Don’t move!” Talcott scolds when Noctis tries to peer over and Prompto fidgets under the stares of both Ignis and Gladio, slipping away to the bathroom mirror.

When he flips on the lights he barely recognizes himself. He looks… _normal -_ like a civilian heading out for an evening of fun instead of prince trying desperately to keep afloat. Despite Gladio’s criticism, he loves the feathered sections of Noctis’ handiwork, his hair fluffed in contrast the way it usually falls flat against his face. It gives him volume, life.

The clothes and hair alone are enough to make a stark difference, but the colors painted across his face leaves him stunned. Violet and royal blue streak in sharp lines along the rise of his left cheek with white dots along the seam and his eyes seem brighter with the shades playing off their depth. A swath of green shadows underneath his opposite jaw, curling down over the line of his throat like a stem to the thick petaled streak of red beneath his lips.

The person in the mirror is nothing of the Prompto he knows - bags beneath his eyes and a heavy burden threatening to flatten him to the ground. No, instead his reflection is confident, ethereal, like someone carefree and ready for the festivities outside and as the thrum of anticipation builds in his veins, he smiles unwittingly.

When he returns to the suite Noctis is asking, “How do I look?” as Gladio breaks into a robust laughter all over again.

Ignis shifts his glasses and gives a sharp smile. “I daresay positively purr-fect.”

The compliment leaves Talcott beaming, proud of his work and Prompto has to stifle his own laughter when he catches sight of the blue whiskers streaked across Noctis’ cheeks and the triangle of black upon his nose. He freezes when Noctis’ eyes snap to him, tracing over the splashes of color along his features with a heavy gaze. Prompto grabs his camera to snap a picture and Noctis frowns as he blinks the flash away, but his lips twitch up at the corners. 

Jared returns, having rested enough to take Talcott back out for more adventures and as they leave, Iris gestures for Noctis to sit before her.

“No worries, I’ll just freshen up his look.” She wipes off the nose first, swiftly followed by the bottom two whiskers. A streak of pink finds a home above one of the remaining ones and a curve of orange along the line of his brow that makes Prompto think of the sky right after daybreak.

“Can’t do much for your hair,” says Gladio and Noctis rolls his eyes, reaching into the armiger in a flash of blue to retrieve a hat and flattens it down over his head.

“There. We good?”

He moves to stand by Prompto, who takes in how everyone assess their final disguises - Iris proudly lounging back in her chair, arms crossed; Ignis, chin balanced delicately in his hand and an indecipherable expression on his face; and Gladio, a strange downturn to his lips as he says, “Guess so. If anyone recognizes you and causes a fuss, you come back.”

“Right.”

“And check in with us,” adds Ignis.

“Okay,” says Noctis as he wraps a hand around Prompto’s arm and speeds him out the door. It shuts with a click and they’re on their own.

As they make their way towards the main street Prompto trails after him closely, hand wrapped in the back of Noctis’ dress shirt. The crowd is thick with people of all kinds enjoying the event and his nerves quail at the thought of being recognized, but no one looks twice their way, too caught up in their own adventures for the night.

Let’s circle around and see what all there is first,” says Noctis, leaning close to be heard and when Prompto nods he smiles and clasps their hands together, tugging him along.

They stroll along the avenue to take in the sights as Prompto desperately tries to calm his frantic pulse. He misses the first chunk of things, too focused on worrying whether his hand is too sweaty and if he should pull away, but soon the surroundings demand his attention. With every step his shoulders loosen, the cover of their anonymity emboldening him as he takes in all the various games and stalls packed with food and art alike. When he gets comfortable enough he snaps a reel of pictures, loving the way the neon lights streak in the background and the diverse crowd never leaves him wanting for interesting subjects.

When they loop back to the front of the street, they pass a prize booth stuffed to the brim with everything from cheap trinkets to people-sized moogles. He casually glances it over, not expecting to find anything he truly wants, but his eyes catch on a magazine - a limited copy photography edition - and his chest tightens with unbelieving excitement. When he sees the amount of tokens it is and swiftly looks away, used the sting of disappointment, and focuses on the activities around them.

“Well?” asks Noctis when they’ve cycled through everything. “Anything catch your eye?”

Prompto grins and points over at a sharpshooter game they’d passed near an outdoor cafe. “That one?”

“You sure? I should let you know I’m on a few of the high score leaderboards at my local arcade in Insomnia,” says Noctis teasingly as they get in line.

“Is that a type of shooting range?” 

He’s yanked to a stop, Noctis frozen in the middle of the street as he stares. Noctis opens his mouth, pausing before snapping it shut again with a bewildered look which melts away as he resumes their path to the shooting game. 

“I’ll take you next time we’re in Insomnia,” he says casually, all of Prompto’s breath leaves him when he smiles. “Guess I can go easy on you this time.”

Playing coy, Prompto shrugs a shoulder. “Guess we’ll see.”

Four rounds of neverending targets later and Noctis stares at him in disbelief as he accepts the winning tokens from the employee, yet _again._

“Oh,” says Prompto, feigning ignorance as he grins. “Did you forget I’m an ace shot?”

“No,” he grumbles, pushing his shoulder against Prompto’s. “Wanna try that scavenger hunt?”

Laughing at how disgruntled he looks, Prompto pokes at his cheek. “Sure, Nya-ctis.”

Noctis’ face scrunches, but it isn’t long before he’s laughing too.

They while the afternoon away, ultimately giving up on the hard clues of the hunt in favor of making their way down the line of games to pool their tokens together. Around dinner time they duck into the shade to snack on vendor food that’s so tasty Prompto goes back for another round. It’s nice to hang out outside of obligations, as if they’re two normal guys out enjoying the festival together. 

When they make their way back to the prize booth and their hands brush more than once, sparks shoot down Prompto’s arm and it dawns on him. This is a _date._

The thought leaves him some strange mix of nerves and excitement he isn’t sure how to feel about. He shouldn’t be getting close again, but it’s hard to keep the distance between them when Noctis is cracking jokes about how many more tokens Prompto’s acquired than him. 

Maybe one night to indulge is okay. One night to pretend he’s just Prompto - not Prince Prompto or awkward tag-along Prompto - but himself, out having fun with Noctis. After all, who knows when he’ll experience a festival like this again?

Sunset has come and nearly gone by the time they look over the prizes, heat seeping out of the pavement in a lingering warmth, and Prompto stares at the dark horizon apprehensively.

“We’ll take that.”

He snaps back to the present in time as the employee reaches for the magazine he’d been eyeing earlier, Noctis counting out a pile of tokens.

“Noct!” he exclaims, face burning hot. “You can’t… It’s so expensive, we won’t - there won’t be enough tokens for you to get anything!”

“Sure there is,” says Noctis and he bends over the counter to examine the smaller prizes, pointing to a cheap little keychain of a bright red fish. “That too.” He smiles smugly at Prompto. “There, now we both get what we want.”

Still distraught at the uneven balance, Prompto hesitates to take the magazine, but once the pages are in his hands he’s reluctant to let go. “I guess…”

The glossy cover stares up at him and he can barely wait to open it as they walk away, gasping at all the pictures as he flips it around to show Noctis and rambling on about equipment and tips as he reads. Noctis has to guide him along with a hand on his elbow so he doesn’t crash into anyone and when Prompto reaches the last page he smiles sheepishly. 

“Sorry, I got so caught up.”

“It’s okay, I like listening to you talk about photography,” says Noctis with a bashful smile. “You get so excited. It’s sweet.”

Prompto’s blush returns in earnest and he stutters, searching for something else to talk about as they slip into a quiet side street. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Noctis replies, gesturing to Prompto’s magazine and camera. “May I?”

It’s hard to let them go, Prompto hesitating to hand them over, but Noctis’ touch is gentle as he concentrates and slips them into the armiger, quickly followed by his hat and shiny new keychain. 

“Safe and sound,” he says and takes one of Prompto’s empty hands to tow him along.

The winding alleyway climbs up in wide set stairs before continuing on to a dead end, but Noctis stops halfway up, leading them instead to a door plastered in various posters and stickers - some worn and fading, some shiny and new. Late evening chatter floats down from a nearby rooftop bar as he knocks and a large man with muscles big enough to give Gladio a run for his money answers. He scrutinizes them up and down, eyes widening in recognition, but after a handshake with a flash of gil he steps aside to let them in.

A loud, thrumming song blares inside the darkened hallway and Prompto reaches out his other to twist a hand in the back of Noctis’ shirt, anxiety spiking. The hand still wrapped around his squeezes in return as Noctis leads them down a short set of stairs into a large open room. The music is louder here, pulsing out as the lights rolls through a roulette of neons. It’s as packed in here as it is outside; large enough for them to blend right in without fail, but small enough that there’s room along the edges as they skirt around to the far side. 

Almost everyone is dancing, bodies packed together, and Prompto openly stares as Noctis leads them to the bar. He catches someone lounging against the wall watching him keenly, and Prompto presses closer to Noctis as he orders something from the bartender and slides more gil across the counter.

“Lemme guess,” he says, tugging Prompto closer as the song ends and the space around them fills with thirsty patrons. “No balls in Niflheim… no clubs either?”

Prompto presses close to be heard over the music. “There are a lot of underground ones, but I’ve never been.”

“Well, this’ll help,” says Noctis as their drinks are set before them and he drops change in the tip jar before throwing back a shot, the slide of his throat catching in the light. He pushes another shot Prompto’s way along with a tall, neon blue drink with a glow stick in it. “Pick your poison.”

When he hesitates, Noctis pats his arm and says, “Only if you want though, no pressure.” It’s nonchalant, relaxed, and Prompto knows if he were to walk out right now, Noctis would follow no hesitation. 

Prompto takes the other shot, throwing it back like Noctis had, but it’s sharp and it _stings,_ leaving him coughing and spluttering as he finishes. It’s nothing like the bubbly flutes of champagne he occasionally sipped at galas back home. Laughing, Noctis pats his back gently and they split the blue drink, taking turns sipping. It’s much sweeter, the sting of alcohol an aftertaste as they finish.

Warmth settles low in Prompto’s stomach as Noctis orders another round, plucking the glow stick from the empty glass to loop it over Prompto’s head. They pause, Prompto glancing up from under his lashes to stare at Noctis’ darkened gaze and his breath hitches, wanting to be closer. Everything feels amplified, as if electricity is humming through the air and through _him_ , but as he thinks to reach out they’re interrupted by two more shots placed in front of them. 

This one goes down down easier than the first and as soon as their empty glasses touch the counter, Noctis pulls him away, making for the dancefloor and slipping into the crowd. 

The song is upbeat and fast, beat thrumming along Prompto’s skin as they work their way towards the middle. It’s crowded and hot, sweat beading along the back of his neck as he keeps his elbows in check, and when Noctis turns back around he realizes the light above them makes their paint glow, streaks of color vibrant across his skin as he leans close with a laugh.

“This is slightly different from ballroom dancing,” he says, breath teasing along the curve of Prompto’s ear, making him giggle. 

His thoughts go soft at the edges, hazy in a pleasant way as Noctis sways to the beat, hands leading Prompto to follow along. The crowd carries them along and Prompto feels like water, like a droplet in a river as they ebb and rise together. The shots have loosened up his muscles, movements flowing freely and laughter spills easily from his lips when Noctis pulls a goofy move out of nowhere, smiling brightly at the response. Prompto’s heart pounds, bleeding into the music as he dances until he isn’t sure where he ends and the song begins.

The beat transitions into something low and smooth, deep bass rolling up his spine as Noctis tugs him closer. Prompto folds easily, crowding up against him until their bodies press tight together, and as a hand settles firmly at the base of his back, he wraps his arms around Noctis’ neck in turn, bracelet cold against their feverish skin.

They’re so close Prompto could drown in Noctis’ eyes, vibrant in the flashing lights, bright and hazy from the drinks. His hair is sticking up in front, disheveled from a pass of his hand to stave off the heat and Prompto wants to reach out and trace the line of pink above his brow.

He’s distracted when Noctis changes the movement, rocking against him in a way that sucks the air from Prompto’s lungs as he presses closer to respond in kind. The bodies around them squeeze closer and they folding like pieces of a puzzle, legs slotting together as their hips lock, and as the music swells all Prompto can feel are the vibrations, the course of energy apt to shake his thoughts right out of his body. Noctis’ fingers find his hips, sharp edges peeking out where his shirt has ridden up and another roll of their hips jolts the heat stirring low in his belly.

Dropping his head back, Prompto feels the sweat slick the sides of his fringe and gasps when Noctis leans forward to press a soft kiss to the base of his throat, a shudder rocking through them both at the touch. The dance floor fades away - Lestallum, Eos - until all that remains is them, here, in this moment together with the heady zap of static racing between them. 

Something tugs at the edge of Prompto’s mind, but it’s easy to let it slip into the haze, glancing up at Noctis through his lashes to meet his gaze where it settles low on Prompto’s face. He licks his lips, freezing in the space of a breath as Noctis inches closer.

But instead of pressing closer he jumps and cries out, Prompto flinching away to see horrified swaying man behind Noctis, cup half empty from where the cold, sticky drink had splashed down the back of his shirt. He stutters, but Noctis brushes the apologies off and leads Prompto out of the crowd and towards the bathrooms on the far side.

“Wait here,” he says and smiles, though it falls a little flat. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone before Prompto can agree and he sighs, leaning back against the wall as disappointment settles low in his gut. His head feels foggy, thoughts vaguely sliding in and out of focus as he watches the lights over the heads of the dancers.

The second shot must hit because he loses track of time, the warmth turning to an uneasy churn as he wonders where the hell he is. His shoulders bump into the wall as the world tilts, the colors spinning as he slumps and tries to think. 

Think, think.

Playing with the end of his shirt, he watches the glow of the white lines under the lights. They remind him of a puzzle, intricately woven and impossible to trace with his eyes as they shift and sway, dance. 

_He_ wants to dance and he stares blearily out over the heads of the people again, wondering how to get his feet to take him over there.

Someone should be here with him, right? 

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a club like this?” someone says casually and Prompto’s chest constricts painfully, flashes of ashy hair and sharp eyes flitting through his mind.

No, no. This is _wrong._

_“Now what’s a ray of sunshine like you doing in a place like this?”_

“Cinis?”

The guy leaning next to him frowns in confusion. “Who?” he asks, but the memories come rushing back faster than Prompto can stave them off - the party, the rare bout of sun and laughter in his days, the happiness, the goodbyes, the _silence._

“I thought,” he says, pausing to wipe at his eyes and a smear of color on his hand catching the light. Purple, like snapdragons in full bloom. “You said… you’d take me to see ‘em.” The words feel thick and clumsy in his mouth, rolling off his tongue awkwardly. “I thought sumthn’ bad happened t’you.”

“Sorry, what?” A hand reaches out to steady him. “Are you okay?”

Anger pulls tight in Prompto’s chest at the touch, gentle where it catches at the fragments in his chest and he hiccups a sob and _shoves,_ no matter that this guy is too tall, too lanky, too blond.

“You _left_ me,” he yells. _“_ Why did you _leave?”_

Someone wraps their arms around him - Noctis’ familiar voice in his ears as he’s pulled back, but his world has narrowed down to his memories, the fresh wave of emotions swallowing his thoughts in their wake as he shouts and shouts. The lights flash in a disorienting whirl of colors before they stop, an arm wrapped firm around his chest guiding him out into the fresh night air.

It washes over him like a cold slap. He faintly registers Noctis asking him something, voice worried and frantic, and Prompto should really answer, but his head's still reeling and when his feet stumble he sinks down against the wall, curls over his knees, and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!! All your excitement keeps me going <33 I'd love to hear your thoughts down below!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	10. Hearts Don't Bleed Like Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Beside him, Prompto’s gone quiet. “You still with me?”_
> 
> _He makes a small noise of confirmation and rubs at his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t do it,” says Prompto. “I have to, but I can’t.”_
> 
> Prompto's a mess, a moment is taken for a patched reconciliation, some truths come to light, and Noctis confronts his worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT! Two things actually,
> 
> 1\. THIS FIC IS NOW OFFICIALLY A YEAR (and some change) OLD!!! I started writing the first draft on July 1st, 2017 and now here we are about a fourth of the way through! I can't believe it. Seriously, thank you so, so much to everyone reading and supporting this story ;; It's been an amazing journey so far and I'm so dAMN excited to continue it with you!! There's so much to come!
> 
> 2\. THIS FIC IS NOW A PART OF A SERIES!!! That's right! It's called _Home of the Sun_ and there are two more planned installments. The first is Illuminare, which is a collection of side stories exploring Gladio and Ignis' perspectives as well as an inside look at how their relationship with Noctis first came to be. You can read about what they got up to in the last chapter [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15190826/chapters/35231018) Be prepared for lots of emotions with a bit of heat ;D There's also a prequel exploring Prompto's past in the works, so keep an eye out!
> 
> Without further ado, here is pigeon-princess' [AMAZING ART](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/176325080612/the-boys-return-from-their-night-out-sober-yes) for this chapter. I think she captured the humor of one of the scenes perfectly, so be sure to check it out! As always, huge thanks to her for being here almost since the beginning and collaborating on this with me <3, to Tera for being my biggest fan and cheerleader, and Juli, my beta-best friend who encouraged me to pursue this fic in the first place.
> 
> Chapter title is from Summer Is a Curse by The Faim, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

Helplessness is an unwelcome guest to Noctis and with its return follows an unrelenting reel of its previous visits - the accident which led to his caretaker’s death and his young injury, Prompto vanishing without word or reason, the threat of losing Lunafreya when Niflheim quietly invaded, watching his father age twice as much each passing year beneath the burden of the crystal, Gladio with the side of his face bandaged from an attack meant for him, Ignis’ arm wrenched from pulling him back from the edge in the mines as they beat a hasty retreat. It’s not a stranger, no, but the icy chill of panic turns the warm alcohol in his stomach sour as he stares down at Prompto curling in on himself.

A muffled sob startles him into action, Noctis crouching low to leaning close and angle his body between Prompto and whoever may pass by. He’s still mumbling and barely jumps when Noctis reaches out to touch his arm.

“What happened, did that guy say something to you? Did he hurt you?”

When their eyes meet, Prompto’s gaze is hazy and distant, drooping hair disheveled as tears smudge the face paint Iris had so carefully applied. “You left me there,” he says, words slurring. “You _promised_ and then you used me like everyone else.”

It hurts, _gods_ does it hurt, to see the watery devastation on Prompto’s face and think he may be the cause of it. It doesn’t quite add up despite the guilt churning low in his gut and Noctis squeezes his arm soothingly. “What are you talking about Prom? I’m right here.”

“Cinis, please. It’s not funny,” he mumbles and Noctis frowns at the unfamiliar name. 

Prompto isn’t in any state to explain, small and defeated against the cracked wall with sprigs of plants poking through, so Noctis shoves aside his questions and instead focuses on heaving him to his feet. He stumbles, nearly dragging them right back down, but Noctis manages to sling an arm around his waist and tug Prompto’s around his own neck to steady him.

“No,” he says blearily, trying to tug away, but Noctis holds on and leads them a few staggered steps down the alley. “No, no.” The distress in his voice is hard to go against, but they need cover and Prompto needs a safe place to lie down and recover, so Noctis grits his teeth and carries on.

“It’s okay Prom, I’ve got you.”

Prompto relaxes at the reassurance - or maybe he gives up, but that’s more painful to consider - compliant as Noctis pulls him along.

It’s late and the sound of the festival has softened into a murmur, moon high overhead as they stumble out of the alley. Noctis curses when he pulls out his phone to find six missed calls and a handful of texts in a mix of Gladio’s lingo and Ignis’ perfect grammar. He struggles to balance Prompto against him enough to send an answer back and it vibrates in his hand.

“Noct, where the hell are you?” Gladio demands.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quietly, focusing on placing his feet one in front of the other. “We were at Horizon and I lost track of time. We’re headed back now.”

“If you aren’t here in fifteen, I’ll hunt your asses down.”

Gladio hangs up without a goodbye and Noctis winces, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He adjusts his grip on Prompto and sets course for the Leville a few streets over. 

Thankfully the crowds have thinned, but not enough to where it draws attention to a few more tipsy stragglers. Noctis doesn’t want to imagine the fall out if they ended up in the tabloids like this, especially after Ignis and Gladio put their trust in him to take care of things. Now Prompto’s an absolute mess under his care and Noctis’ stomach rolls in apprehension. 

Things had been going okay, their rocky start in Galdin seemingly settling into an even stride. They’d been having fun at the fair, laughing and winning prizes. The club had been exciting too, before the drama, and the memory of swaying together as one in the crowd burns Noctis’ cheeks.

Beside him, Prompto’s gone quiet. “You still with me?”

He makes a small noise of confirmation and rubs at his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t do it,” says Prompto. “I have to, but I can’t.”

Noctis frowns distractedly, compensating for Prompto’s weight when he stumbles. “Can’t what, Prom? We’re almost there.”

“I _can’t_ ,” he says, and he sounds so defeated it gives Noctis pause. “They want me to, I _have_ to, but I -”

He breaks off and Noctis’ heart plummeting fast enough to make him nauseous, the thoughts racing through his head at a dizzying speed. Could this be what they’ve feared? As soon as they’re under cover of the next alley, he staggers them over to the wall, half-propping Prompto against it until they can face each other with his arm still around him.

It’s enough to catch Prompto’s attention, and for the first time since the dancefloor Noctis feels as though he’s actually seeing him and not some alcohol-induced ghost. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, breath hitching in the small space between them.

“What is it?” Noctis says lowly. “What can’t you do Prom?”

Eyes blinking slowly, Prompto’s lips thin into a hard line. When he goes to look away, Noctis brings a hand up to his face to tilt it back.

“Is it something bad?” No answer. “Prom please.”

“I can’t.”

Whatever facade of sobriety passes and Prompto’s eyes drift hazily once more. It’s clear he’s in no position to discuss this and Noctis is hyper-aware of the minutes dripping by, so he grits his teeth and continues their journey onward.

The night shift receptionist gives them an interested glance over the top of their magazine before startling upright to offer help. Noctis turns them down, embarrassment striking hot, and slowly maneuvers them up the stairs. It’s a task involving all of his attention, but the receptionists eyes burn on the back of his neck and by the time they reach the top he’s sure their fifteen minutes are up.

Sure enough, as soon as they reach the door to their room it swings open, Gladio nearly bowling them over in his haste. Noctis shoulders past him into the room and away from prying eyes.

“What the hell happened?” asks Gladio as he shuts the door behind them. There’s a wild streak in his eyes, bright and bold frustrated worry, and Ignis is just as out of sorts, harried in a muted tenseness that clogs Noctis’ veins with shame. 

It’s followed closely by a twinge of irritation as he and Prompto lurch to a stop. “Like I said, I lost track of time,” he says tartly. “We’re fine.”

Prompto sways in his grip, face drawn and pale as Noctis struggles to steady him, and throws up right onto the floor. He heaves again, Noctis unable to restrain a groan as it lands half on his shoes, and soon they’re caught up in a whirlwind - Prompto whisked away to the bathroom as the mess is hastily cleaned from the carpet before the smell can set.

The rush of water from the faucet helps mask those of Prompto’s sickness, Noctis bent over the sink to rinse his clothes. On the lip of the bathtub sits Ignis, gently smoothing back the tacky hair from Prompto’s face as they wait it out. Gladio’s hovers awkwardly in the doorway, the bathroom too small for all four of them, and once his shoes and pants are left to dry, Noctis joins him, unsure of how to help.

“I didn’t know he was a lightweight,” he says quietly, in attempt to diffuse the awkward tension and his own brewing guilt. No one answers as Prompto heaves another round, knees pressed to the tile as his spine curves.

An unspoken conversation passes over Noctis’ head and although he’s grown accustomed to how easily they read each other over the years, tonight the gap grates sharp and craggy around the political wedge between them. It’s then he notices Ignis’ disheveled hair, still damp from a shower, along with a darkening hickey peeking out from Gladio’s collar and he tries hard to smother the unwanted memory of jealousy with satisfaction that they’d taken his advice to relax, before all the mayhem. Ignis’ cheeks flush slightly under the appraisal and Gladio pulls away entirely, footsteps retreating deeper into the room.

When Noctis steps forward to try and help, Ignis fixes him in place with a pointed look. “Iggy, I’m-”

“What’s done is done,” he says, tightness about his eyes driving his weary tone home. “I’m merely glad you are safe.”

“It was just nice to forget,” he says. It doesn’t excuse the hurt he’s caused them, but the least he can do is explain himself.

It isn’t so much that Noctis wants to run from his responsibilities - he’s long since come to terms with his duties and his station - but it doesn’t diminish the liberating freedom he felt dancing anonymously in the club with Prompto, wholly themselves without the pressures of politics or audience. He’d been swept away by the heat and the lights, the thrum of his blood singing along with the bass, and he knows it was his carelessness which led them to where they are now - a night of sickness and worry.

Understanding does little to ease the tension of Ignis’ shoulders, but it puts Noctis more at ease to know his side has been heard and opens the door to conversation if they ever want to pursue it. For now, Ignis focuses on consoling Prompto as another wave of sickness hits and he gestures to the room without looking back, his meaning clear.

Walking to the balcony of their room feels like wading through sand and it’s with a bone deep ache that Noctis wonders how the imposing wall between him and Gladio came to be.

The sultry air has tempered, the late hours of the night a blanketed shroud against the stark realities of daylight. Noctis finds Gladio waiting for him, leaning back against the metal of the railing with his arms crossed loosely in a veneer of leisure. His eyes flick up when Noctis approaches, glinting in the dim light pouring out of the room and betraying nothing to his thoughts.

It hasn’t been so insurmountably stilted between them in a long time, since back when they were young - their words tight-lipped and feelings even more so. It had taken so much to break past it, to grow into their bond until it sang of harmony, and Noctis desperately wishes for that stride to come back.

“Gladio I-”

“Listen-”

They stop abruptly, cracking tiny smiles that feel as fragile as the flicker of hope in Noctis’ chest. There’s too much set in the stone of their past and too much already paved of their future for the present to lead them far astray. Noctis does his best to leave his posture open and receptive to whatever Gladio is willing to share, wondering exactly how much of Gladio’s own emotions he’s been shielding him from.

“You first,” he says, facing Gladio head on as the eye contact between them draws the air tense.

Gladio’s brows furrow, arms remaining barred across his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Noctis blinks in surprise. He’d expected a chastising, or at least a confrontation of the mess he’s made, not an apology.

“For what?”

Another pause, but Noctis waits it out, knowing exactly how hard it can be to find the right words, especially when they’ve been stewing for so long - since before the tour at least.

“I know I haven’t been the most welcoming, or open, but I’m trying,” says Gladio, words uncertain and stilted. “It’s just hard when...” 

He hesitates, gaze slanting away as his expression pinches. He doesn’t continue, but his blunt candor pops the ballooning swell of all the things left unsaid between them and Noctis steps closer, using Gladio’s surprise to his advantage.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, the words spilling out faster than he can consider them. “For being reckless and for not staying in touch like I promised. For… for not checking in with how you’re doing.” He reaches out to bridge the gap between them, hand settling softly against Gladio’s arm. “For making you worry. Gladio…”

The balcony falls silent, though Lestallum still hums quietly with vibrant life. Beneath Noctis’ fingers, Gladio’s arm twists, reaching out to tug him further into the shadows. A lattice laced with climbing vines shields them from view of any passersby in the square below, vibrant blooms shut tight against the faint moonlight painting crisscross shadows against Gladio’s features, casting them in sharp relief.

His hands are gentle, rough with callouses as he brushes Noctis’ hair back to cradle his face. His thumbs trace a path over the rise of his cheeks and it’s impossible not to lean into it, the familiar intimacy stealing away all of Noctis’ breath as he tilts his head up, hands moving to rest upon Gladio’s strong shoulders.

When Gladio leans close, Noctis’ eyelids flutter shut, surprise stirring in his chest when the lips he’s expecting to arrive miss his mouth by a mile to land reverently against his forehead. The embrace lingers, warmth rolling down Noctis’ spine and melting away the canyon between them with the kiss which feels everso like a sealed vow. When Gladio pulls away he doesn’t retreat far, instead sliding his hands to the hollow of Noctis’ lower back and bending low to press his brow against the same spot he anointed.

“I’m so afraid of losing you.”

It’s spoken in a rushed whisper, a secret brushing against Noctis’ lips, and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to focus on the protective curve of Gladio against him. He shifts his hands, sliding them up from Gladio’s shoulders along the stretch of his neck to tangle in his long hair. “The only way you’ll lose me is if you push me away.”

Gladio makes a wounded noise, but Noctis silences it with a kiss to his cheek, scruff rasping against his lips. 

They pull away, unable to stray far from each other’s sides as they return inside the room. It may not be a full reconciliation, stuck in the perpetual unsure limbo of the tour, but it’s a start.

The worst of Prompto’s sickness has passed, Ignis leaning over his form tucked into one of the beds to rearrange him in recovery position. He looks small and pale in his restless sleep and the ever boiling pot of guilt stirs uneasily in Noctis’ stomach.

“He’ll be okay after some rest,” says Ignis, offering them a weary smile. “Although I suspect he’ll have a hangover in the morning.”

Noctis reaches out to brush Prompto’s hair back from his fair, the weight of Ignis and Gladio’s gazes on him is heavy on the affection. It doesn’t disturb him, chest rising and falling evenly, and Noctis tentatively reachesto Ignis for an embrace.

He sighs in relief when Ignis draws him near, mumbling into the rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Sorry for leaving you to clean up my mess. Again.”

Gladio shuffles about his evening routine and Ignis says nothing, merely tightens his arms around him. He freezes when Noctis pulls back to press a kiss to his sharp cheekbone, in a mirror of the one he’d given Gladio, and the surprise hurts. To know he’s given them such reason to doubt weighs heavy on his conscience.

“I think it best if I stay with Prompto tonight,” Ignis says when they part. “To keep an eye on him.”

The way he glances between Noctis and Gladio, who’s already settled in the other bed propped on an elbow to face them, tells them that’s not the only reason why. Noctis appreciates the gesture, the recognition they need to be close, and Noctis reaches out to squeeze his hand before readying for sleep.

When they’ve all settled in for the night and the lights flicker off, Noctis lies awake with Gladio’s comforting warmth nearby. It’s too hot to even think of pressing together, but they remain close in other ways - Noctis’ perpetually cold feet tucked back between Gladio’s calves and one of Gladio’s hands resting against the nape of Noctis’ neck where it’d been running through his hair before he drifted off.

Noctis is too wired to follow suit, the buzz of the alcohol long since worn off.

The name Prompto muttered under his breath lingers over him like an unsuspected ghost. He repeats it over and over - Cinis… Cinis - but no, nothing. He’s never heard the name in his life, though he’s better at remembering faces than names. It’s always been up to Ignis to jog his memory. Noctis resolves to possibly bring up the name to him and see if he can recall anyone.

Perhaps it’s someone Prompto knew in Niflheim, or at least from the space after Tenebrae, since he certainly hadn’t been mentioned there. Noctis’ heart twinges at the thought of all the time separating them. How much has he missed? How much heartache and pain, joy and happiness, and all the in between? If it had been up to him he wouldn’t have skipped a moment, but it hadn’t, and now here he is confronting all the unfamiliar territory of their lives.

He’d said something else too, more worrisome - that he _can’t do it_ even though he has to, whatever that means. Noctis’ first thought is of their engagement. No matter how seamlessly the Lestallum event had gone compared to the Galdin - all the people who shook their hands and all the fun they had during the festival - their marriage is still a piece on a much larger chessboard. 

What if he can’t go through with it because he’s hung up over someone else? Is that who Cinis is? Someone who, in Prompto’s own words, left and used him? The very thought threatens to cleave Noctis’ heart in two, both of him with another and that they didn’t treat him like they should have. The former is less rational - he can hardly be jealous of an addition to Prompto’s romantic life any less than he could expect towards Ignis and Gladio - but the latter stokes the coals within his veins. Prompto deserves happiness, even if Noctis can’t fulfill it.

But on the other hand…

Niflheim could be planning something - something like they’d suspected from the start and despite the impending heartache Noctis prays it’s the former. Matters of the heart can be dealt with between them, but matters of state and politics far outweighs in terms of repercussions. 

This treaty means everything to his country, to their future, and to have it fall through by either hand of cards would be truly devastating. Noctis likes to believe he’s ready to do anything in his power to prevent it, that no matter how high the stakes he’ll jump the hoops. He hopes he never has to find out for sure.

Either way he should tell Ignis and Gladio what he’s heard, it’s too important to leave brushed under the rug, but first he needs to talk to Prompto. It could turn out to be neither thing, maybe something trivial, but he won’t know unless he asks.

It’s later than late when he resolves to approach Prompto the next day, mind a tumultuous sea of worry and possibility. He listens to everyone’s steady breathing underneath the steady whir of the fans and it’s only when the early shift energy plant workers are rising to head to work he finally drifts into sleep.

When he wakes it feels as if his mouth has been stuffed full of cotton, but he’s thankful that’s the only lingering effect of their night out. The sheets are kicked down to the bottom of the bed with Noctis lying spread out in the empty space Gladio left behind and he groans as he’s roused into sitting up.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbles, rubbing at his gritty eyes. He regrets all those lost hours of sleep now, so unused to insomnia.

Everyone else is up and about - though it’s not quite the right phrasing when it comes to Prompto, who sits freshly showered and slumped over with his forehead against the table in the corner, clutching a glass of water like his life depends on it. 

It all cycles through Noctis’ head in saturated detail like a film reel - the fair, the bar, Prompto’s meltdown about _Cinis_ , whoever that is - and although a million questions stir within him, another glance at the bags underneath Prompto’s eyes gives him pause. He’ll have to talk to him later, when the hangover has died down and they can grab a moment alone.

“C’mon,” says Gladio, with a final stolen caress of Noctis’ hair. The night before hadn’t been all bad, if only to serve in patching the bond between them. “We gotta get moving.”

Ignis passes over a pile of fresh clothes with a decidedly pleasant smile. “Iris has requested our presence for breakfast.”

It takes Noctis a longer than usual to get ready, his thoughts drifting off as he dresses and washes his face. He comes up with several ways to confront Prompto, trashes more than half, and rethinks a few more before he manages to stumble back into the main room.

By the time they make it down to the residential suites, his stomach is protesting loudly. Prompto seems sturdier on his feet, though he doesn’t say much as they all settle around the table next to Jared and Talcott.

“Doing okay?” Noctis asks as he slumps into a chair beside him.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t make eye contact, but Noctis is satisfied when he continues. “I think I’ll be better once I eat, but…” He stares peakishly at the pile of Altissian-style toast Iris has plated for him.

Conversation flows easily between them all, Iris and Talcott alone are enough to keep the mood light and engaging. Having a set meal together with people he cares for never fails to revive Noctis’ fondness, regardless of if he contributes to the chatter or not, and the familiar warmth settles thick and golden as the syrup on his plate.

“Sorry for being such a buzzkill last night,” says Prompto quietly when the others are thoroughly engaged in a discussion of the rest of Lestallum’s festivities.

“You kidding? That was some of the most fun I’ve had in a while,” says Noctis. It’s the truth after all - before things went south he’d been having the time of his life, laughing and teasing and getting lost in the simplicity of a normal life. “Sorry I let it get too intense.”

“It’s okay.” Prompto meets his eyes with a tiny grin. “I had fun too, you know, before my guts decided they wanted out of my body.”

Noctis snorts and they both share a smile and return to the discussion at hand. All the worry and speculation in the bag of his mind nags and nags, but not enough to ruin his meal.

When the plates are scraped clean and everyone’s appetites satisfied, Talcott settles in for his turn to do dishes while everyone retires to the sitting room. Noctis frowns when Iris remains standing, arms crossed and head tilted to listen for the rush of water and clatter of cutlery. 

She nods when she’s satisfied Talcott is distracted and sets her hands on her hips. “I want to talk to you guys about something serious.”

Their eyes meet, Iris’ brow quirking up, and Noctis know immediately what she wants to bring to attention, their conversation in the ethereal glow of the power plant replaying in his mind. A quick glance at Prompto reveals much of the same where he’s pale against the arm of the couch, as if his breakfast is deciding whether or not to make a reappearance

“What’s wrong,” says Gladio immediately, sitting forward in his seat at his sister’s severe tone.

“I thought it could be nothing, but a report came to the plant today from Insomnia and I don’t think we can ignore it anymore.” She pauses, the tension stretching and stretching, waiting for the snap.

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous, but we’re running out of daylight. Literally.”

Iris holds up a hand to cut off her brother’s incredulous noise and Jared folds his hands gravely, elbows propped on the arms of his chair. In the corner of his eye, Noctis catches Ignis looking at him thoughtfully, the wheels of his mind turning.

“You know already?” he asks and Noctis nods.

“Iris asked us about it on the tour yesterday, but I hadn’t heard about it before.”

“And you didn’t think to let us know?” Gladio sounds frustrated instead of angry, but it still deepens Iris’ frown. It’s strange to see such a stoic expression on her young features, twice now, and Noctis decides he doesn’t like it, not when her carefree excitement suits her much better.

“It was my decision,” she says. “I didn’t want to worry you all over nothing.”

“The report?” asks Ignis, eager to have all the facts first.

“Right, it came from the citadel last night and confirmed it. Some type of mutated organism is in the atmosphere and the more it grows, the longer it’s taking for the sunlight to reach the surface of Eos.” She shakes her head with a sigh. “I don’t know everything, the how and why are still unanswered, but the point is if it keeps on this path, soon it’ll be too thick for _any_ light to get through.”

They fall silent as the news sinks in, only broken by the clink of silverware rinsing under the faucet from the kitchen. Noctis is glad Talcott isn’t here to hear this, thinks of the burden it would be for someone even younger than Iris.

“What can we do to help?” asks Gladio.

“She said Insomnia and Lestallum are both running more tests. They’ll be contacting other world leaders to alert and weigh in,” says Ignis, brow furrowed in thought. 

“I don’t believe there’s anything you boys _can_ do until they discover the specifics,” says Jared. “Aside from continue on your current course.”

“We’ll have to get stronger,” says Gladio, leaning over the detailed map still spread over the coffee table from the day before. “Be prepared for anything.”

Noctis eyes the progress with interest, pencil marks dotted and circled with lines written in the margins in Ignis’ neat script. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Talcott appears beside him.

“What are you guys looking for?” he asks, arms propped on the top of the couch as he strains to see. Glances are exchanged, Ignis and Gladio’s gazes both jumping briefly to Prompto who’s been silent, then each other, before returning to the map.

“His Majesty’s vessel is currently being repaired for us, leaving a chunk of time before we’re expected to arrive in Tenebrae,” explains Ignis. “We’ve heard rumors of another royal arm in the area and had planned to utilize it in order to search.”

“Royal arm?” says Talcott with a toothy grin. “What for? You've already got two.” He pokes at one of Noctis’ biceps and a chorus of amused groans rose around the room, Ignis stifling his laughter.

“These are more like fighting arms,” says Gladio with a bright grin. “Astrals know he needs help in that department.”

“Hey,” Noctis whines, slumping further into the couch. “I got muscle, you just can’t see it.”

“Sure.”

He pouts for show, crossing his arms as Iris and Talcott stifle their giggles, Jared smiling contently as he watches on.

“Regardless,” says Ignis, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand, “these are powerful weapons which lend Noctis the strength of past kings. They’re usually found within their tombs, where we visit them and he asks for their help should they choose to grant it.”

“How many are there?” asks Iris.

“No one can say for sure, as they’ve all been hidden and are full of magic. They tend to come to light only when they desire it.”

“Ohhh,” says Talcott and excitedly slaps his arms against the upholstery. “That sounds like the sword in the waterfall!”

Iris snaps her fingers, eyes lighting up excitedly. “Oh right! I’d forgotten. It’s an old tale, but no one’s ever given it any stock since nothing’s been found. I think it’s nearby?”

“Maybe it’s not a legend after all!”

“It’s worth checking out at least,” says Gladio and he and Iris pour over the map, tracing fingers along the route to the location of the waterfall. “There isn’t a haven nearby, but we should be able to make do. I say we’d be better off heading out now and rest up there before checking it out.”

He rolls up the map and stands, reaching over to clasp Jared’s hand in a firm shake. “Do be careful out there,” says the caretaker.

“We’ll be back before you know it.” Gladio moves on to envelop his sister in a giant hug, rocking them side to side.

Noctis pats Talcott on the back where he’s still flopped over the couch, pout growing as goodbyes are exchanged. “I’ll tell you all about our cool adventures when we get back, sound good?” he offers and gets an enthusiastic fist bump to seal the deal.

“We’re… leaving now?” asks Prompto, hands clasping his elbows as he watches them shuffle to their feet. He looks unbalanced, like a stalk of grass bending in the breeze, threatened to be flattened by the approaching storm.

“No time like the present,” says Gladio as he rolls the map.

Ignis glances over at him with a thoughtful frown. “Perhaps it would be best if you remained behind? It isn’t exactly something outlined in the negotiations. A break before we embark to Tenebrae may serve you well.”

“No, I want to help,” says Prompto in a determined rush, so much like he had that first day in Hammerhead. “You’ve done this before?”

“Yeah, I have three now,” says Noctis. “They’re usually at the end of some sort of labyrinth-type tomb which is always a pain to navigate, but other than a few stray animals it hasn’t been too much for us to handle.” He’s condensed the reality of it, and when he makes eye contact with Ignis, he grimaces and rubs absently at his shoulder.

“Labyrinth?” Prompto’s voice goes faint. It probably doesn’t help that all of their eyes are on him now, and Noctis is grateful when Jared beckons Talcott to their rooms. 

Iris tilts her head and offers a smile. “Prompto you’re more than welcome to stay with us until they get back.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says and when he stands the color is returning to his cheeks.

Goodbyes are passed around once more and they retreat to their room to pack their things in relative silence. When the last of the assorted trash has been tossed and the final stray shirt tucked away, Noctis tugs Prompto’s sleeve to keep him from following the others into the hall.

“We’ll meet you down there in a minute.”

Despite the different levels of unease flitting across their faces, no one protests as the door shuts behind Ignis and Gladio. The room drops into apprehensive silence, Noctis’ hand falling away from Prompto’s shirt as he shifts. It’s as if everything he’s rehearsed over in his head has turned to liquid, slipping away before he can remember it.

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“Is everything okay?”

“You tell me Prom,” he says, and shit, that came out harsher than intended. Noctis clears his throat and tries again. “I mean, are you doing all right? Last night…”

Prompto grimaces and fidgets with the strap of his bag. “I made a fool out of myself I know.”

“No! I mean, it’s okay, it happens to all of us,” says Noctis and has to restrain from hitting himself in the face. “This isn’t what I - I mean, look. Prom you were saying a lot of weird things, do you remember?”

It’s a little terrifying how blank Prompto’s face goes, without a hint as to any emotion other than how it feels like the temperature has dropped ten degrees. “Sort of, what did I say?”

“Things like... how you can’t go through with something but you have to? All these things about promises? I wanted to know if maybe something’s wrong.”

Still nothing betrays a single stray thought and Noctis winces at his stilted delivery. This isn’t what he practiced at _all_. No amount of tact or subtlety, only the ugly truth of his questions out in the open. He jumps when Prompto laughs, off-kilter and choppy like he’s forcing it out.

“Oh, right. That’s nothing,” he says. “Sometimes when I get too out of it I get upset over dumb things. Most of the time I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” says Noctis, crossing his arms with a frown. “Is it - is it the wedding? Are you thinking you can’t go through with it?” He can’t help the hurt creeping into his voice, but he does his best to reign it in. If Prompto withdraws from the union, they’ll have a lot more to worry about than his wounded pride.

He hates how relieving it is when Prompto stares at him in shock. “No! No, definitely not that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be," he says, affronted, and there’s some ounce of sincerity underneath, but to Noctis’ ears it falls flat. “I care for my people just as much as you do yours.”

The words sting with venom and Noctis reels back, as if the ground cracks beneath their feet. “I didn’t suggest otherwise,” he says, frustration building. “Are you in love with someone? Is that why you’re double guessing the treaty?”. 

“What?!” Prompto blinks, jaw dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Noctis barrels on. “We could work it out, I’m sure, if you’d only tell me what’s going on.”

With every word Prompto’s incredulous expression deepens. “I have no idea where you got the idea, but I _don’t_ have a problem with following through with my duty,” he snaps, “and I’m certainly not involved with anyone back home.”

“Well, _something’s_ wrong, and if that isn’t what it is, then what is?” Noctis hates this, running in circles without any real answers. He can feel the sharp tang of fear at the back of his throat. If it isn’t what he thinks it is, there’s the potential for it to be alluding to something _worse._

“Nothing!”

“Oh really?” bites Noctis, a mass of green squeezing tight around his lungs. “Then who’s Cinis?”

Regret drops in his gut like wet concrete when Prompto flinches as if struck, room plunging into a fragile quiet. His mask shatters, face screwing up as if in pain, and gods, Noctis doesn’t have any right to be jealous, not like this, but the barbed vines of it have been growing and twisting ever since he was left to his thoughts in the early hours of dawn and he struggles to keep them down.

Neither of them speak, the busy noise of Lestallum bustling outside the windows.

“Is something going on that we don’t know?” Noctis sees the way Prompto’s shoulders bunch, lips thinning into a straight line. “If you tell us what it is, we could help you!”

Prompto sucks in a shaky breath, words cold enough to cut like ice. “Stop acting like you know me Noctis, you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Only because you won’t talk to me! I’m not the one who hasn’t been trying!”

“Don’t you _dare_ accuse me of not pulling my weight Noctis!” Prompto shouts. “Unlike everyone else around here, I don’t owe you a thing!”

It’s Noctis’ turn to recoil, the jab striking deep in an old wound, and he blinks harshly to avoid losing it. He wishes he were back home, curled up in bed away from this mess, from this war passed down onto their shoulders regardless of who started it. The tension in the room dissolves like a snapped rubber band, both of them nursing their hurt with averted eyes and curled shoulders.

When he’s sure he has control of his voice again, Noctis says lowly, “They’re waiting for us.” He brushes by Prompto’s shoulder, not looking back once at the footsteps following him down to the lobby.

Both Ignis and Gladio shoot them questioning looks, but when Noctis shakes his head they keep quiet, the four of them checking out and making their way through the streets towards the car. Lestallum is still in the throes of celebration, the events from the day before sprawling into a weekend long festival, and by the time they reach the parking lot, all of the anger has seeped right out of Noctis’ body all together, leaving behind an empty hollow instead.

His skin feels drawn tight and uncomfortable when Ignis gently tugs him aside. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” says Noctis. “Nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this as an updated or completed work, this is a mandatory rest stop! Drink some water, eat a snack, and get some sleep if you need!
> 
> I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts so far <3 You guys are the best.
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	11. This Is My Kingdom Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The moon rises steadily, a waxing gibbous nearly as bright as the sun, but their warm dinner isn’t enough to fill the void of Noctis’ silence._
> 
> Preparation for their quest, a surprisingly soft confrontation, and a harrowing discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAND WE'RE BACK, bringing you more Divenire content to enjoy! Please direct your attention over >>[HERE](http://pigeon-princess.tumblr.com/post/178590271492/he-hesitates-unsure-before-letting-himself)<< where pigeon-princess has drawn a goRGEOUS depiction of one of the scenes from this chapter <3 I'm still not over the expressions!!!!
> 
> Huge thank you, as always, to her for working on this project with me ;; I couldn't ask for a better creative partner ~~in crime~~ ; to Tera, for being my rock in all aspects; and to Juli, the best second pair of eyes I could ask for <3
> 
> Chapter title is from Demons by Imagine Dragons, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

The festivities are still in full swing when they leave - a colorful sea of music, food, and laughter parting around their group fluidly, as if they’re merely observers on the outside despite the smiles of recognition. Prompto feels this most of all, horribly aware of the stilted air between him and Noctis, and consequently between them all. It pulls taut and hazy in the blazing heat of the day, engulfing them as they weave back to the parking lot overlooking Duscae.

Prompto makes an effort to unclench his hands and smooth his brow - to be palatable for the public despite the flames snapping inside his chest. 

How dare Noctis ask - no, _demand_ that of him.

It’s not as if he feels any satisfaction withholding things from them, especially after the kindnesses he’s been afforded throughout the trip as an invader in their group. There are tentative ties of trust interlinking him to Noctis, to Ignis and Gladio, and as much as he’d like to believe in a future that preserves and nurtures them, it doesn’t mean they are entitled to his secrets.

He worries their fight has set them back, that their slow progress has all but reversed in the terse silence, but it’s still far too dangerous to consider the alternative. Who knows what ears are listening in, what eyes are watching? Who knows how far his words could travel if he spills even a drop? Too much is riding on his discretion, too much could come crashing down around them, and how can he ensure safety if there’s a leak in the hull while they’re still in the middle of this ocean of a war? The shore is in sight, but no. For now it’s far safer to keep his cards to his chest and wait until his feet are firmly on the ground.

Most of all, Prompto is furious with himself for coming close - for planting seeds of doubt he now has to sow before they sprout into tangled vines. And Cinis… well, that’s an entire mess of its own. The barbs still tug sharp as nails inside his chest and he’s unsure if the nausea roiling in his stomach is from the lingering hangover still heavy in his head or the impending quest they’ve begun.

The warm leather of the Regalia is a comfort he sinks into immediately, leaning back against the seat to staunch his headache. He blinks when Ignis wordlessly offers him a water bottle, their eyes meeting across the center console as he accepts. 

It still makes him uneasy, how keen Ignis’ eyes are - digging and prodding and asking without words. Prompto glances away and sips from the bottle as they pull out of the parking lot.

His memories of the previous night are hazy, but he remembers with a hot flush of embarrassment the mess he made and the gentle comfort Ignis provided as he held back his hair. He remembers the patience and the cool hand against his brow as he was helped into bed and given water. Prompto feels a lingering sense of debt, despite his proffered apologies and thanks in the morning, but it’s not strong enough to want to recount the specifics of his and Noctis’ fight.

Despite the soured end to their night, running around the festival with Noctis with the illusion of anonymity had been an irreplaceable experience and the club… Prompto blushes, focusing on the passing scenery as they navigate the heavy traffic and exit Lestallum. That had been good too, before the chaos.

The road curves against the hillside, Duscae passing slowly in the distance. Overhead, a cable car filled with supplies steadily makes its way towards Lestallum. Prompto props his head on his arms against the door and fights with his growing nerves.

Despite the rising anxiety about their mission - a _labyrinth_ they’d said - he doesn’t regret his choice. The others have done this before and knowing only a few stray animals have made their home within the tombs in the past is also a relief. He’d been expecting something undoubtedly more sinister. By now, he feels more at home with his place in their ebb and flow of battle, Quicksilver sitting comfortably in his hands, but the idea of having to do so in a tight space while possiblylostis an entirely different matter. 

Regardless, sitting back and watching the sunlight slip away felt a worse fate. At least this way he’s being useful.

The depression in the ground which had followed beside them opens up into a yawning trench, mist swirling low enough to obscure any feasible bottom. From either side, half-formed arches curve inwards like bones of a broken ribcage. 

Prompto forgets the tension in his awe. “What _is_ that?”

“The Taelpar Crag,” says Gladio, glancing up from his book. “A scar from when Bahamut fought Ifrit in the Astral War.” Beside him, Noctis looks to be fast asleep, but Prompto can’t tell whether or not he’s faking to escape further confrontation.

“Didn’t he kill Ifrit for attacking humanity?”

“So the stories go,” says Ignis, and he points to the looming mountain of black ash smoking on the horizon. Glowing rock emerges from the top like twisted fingers, a muted red in the sunlight. “Mount Ravatogh is said to be his corporal form’s final resting place.”

Prompto makes a thoughtful noise, snapping a quick picture with his camera. It’s nice of them to indulge his questions even with the uneasiness. He glances back at Noctis and catches the cover of Gladio’s book, curling title letters embossed in gold.

“What part are you at?” he asks, ignoring the disgruntled noise Ignis makes when he peeks over the back of his seat.

“Huh?” Gladio’s face goes slack with surprise before he coughs awkwardly. “I’m, uh… I’m up to the part where Silvano returns from war.”

It’s an offer - an extended olive branch in attempt to connect - and Prompto takes the opportunity for what it is and runs with it. “What do you think of Consuela’s mistress? In Niflheim she isn’t popular, but I really like her whole subplot.”

A short laugh distracts Prompto from his tirade, Ignis glancing with amusement at Gladio in the rearview mirror. “Astrals help us, there’s two of you.”

Prompto ducks his head sheepishly, but he’s delighted when Gladio answers. “I like her character a lot, too, though I have a few theories going about whether or not she’s spying for the other side.” He gives Prompto a narrowed glare. “Don’t say anything to give it away.”

It’s hard to tamp down a smile enough to mime zipping his lips and throwing away the key, but Prompto succeeds. Maybe things won’t be too different, he thinks with one last glance at Noctis. The others haven’t reverted to their original frigidity towards him, but maybe that’s part of the plan - to stay close and keep an eye on him. Either way, he’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with three cold shoulders, despite the fact it would make it easier to keep his distance.

The car slips into a tunnel, yellow lights rolling past overhead as they discuss. When they emerge into daylight it peters off, Gladio returning to his book and Prompto distracted by the deep green of the river winding beneath the bridge. Ignis heads west at the fork and as a small outpost comes into view, Gladio shakes Noctis awake.

By the time they pull into the parking lot the sun is setting behind the hills. There isn’t much to the outpost - a couple of gas pumps, a shop full of supplies and proffered knickknacks, and an overnight caravan. Prompto stretches, gazing out over the side of the railing towards the two rivers converging into one far below.

With every rotation of the sky, it feels as thought the sun’s warmth reaches him less and less. It reminds him of Gralea’s long winter months, harsh and bitter, and can’t help but wonder if they’ll grow worse with the dying light.

“Why can’t we stay here?” asks Noctis as they trek along the side of the highway. The road this far out doesn’t see much traffic, a lone car passing in a wide arc around them.

“And listen to you whine all the way back up the stairs after we’re done?” Gladio playfully throws his arm around Noctis’ shoulders, who knocks it away with a scoff.

Sure enough, off the side of the road is a wide set staircase doubling back and forth to end at a dirt path winding downhill between large rocks and short, gnarled trees full in summer’s bloom. Prompto’s once again thankful for the handiness of the armiger in carrying their supplies, as lugging it all back up this way would be nothing short of trying. He hears the rivers before he sees them, a gentle rush of water sloshing against the rocks along the banks at their confluence. The last fingers of sunlight bounce off in brilliant hues, as a cool breeze sweeps across to rustle the trees and their hair.

As they round another bend in the path, Gladio grabs them by the scruff and hauls them back to crouch behind a boulder.

“What – ?” Noctis starts, but Gladio shushes him and points up along the riverbank.

Now alert, Prompto can hear them snapping and scuttling and rocks falling as they’re knocked down. There are four of them, large curled legs tucked under their bodies and pinchers upraised and swaying as they clack together. They nearly blend in with the boulders, backs hardened like solid rock and covered in blankets of lichen.

“Shieldshears…” Ignis says, lowly.

There’s a flash of blue light and Gladio settles his greatsword against his shoulder. “Great… so, what’s the plan?”

“Focus on weakening their defenses and try to aim for their shells,” says Ignis, assessing the situation as they summon their weapons. “Noctis and I will use our polearms to try and reach their vulnerabilities. Prompto, I need you to hang back and aim for the underbellies. Everyone keep an eye on the pincers, they’ll be deadly if caught.”

“All right, let’s do this,” Noctis says, and in a flash he warps across the remaining hill and strikes the first shieldshear with staggering force.

Adrenaline sends Prompto’s heartbeat pounding in his ears as he gets lost in the battle. Time ceases to exist - the lingering past and the ever-approaching future fading in the shadow of the present, every second played in real time as he shoots direct and true. It’s easy to fall into the routine of fighting without a spare moment to maintain the tense distance between him and Noctis.

The first fiend goes down in the surprise of the attack, but the remaining few push back in force as it falls. They’re much bigger up close, towering over Prompto as he dashes about the outskirts, aiming for the softer chinks in their armor. His concentration breaks only once as he watches wide-eyed as Gladio lifts Noctis up by the spear to hurl them both with one arm in display of incredible strength.

Another opening appears and Prompto’s sucked back into the throes of fighting. He whoops as another shieldshear is felled, Ignis leaping over the remaining loner with pronounced agility, and with a final push from all fronts, it falls silent.

Prompto laughs, hands falling to rest on his knees as he rides out the tailend of a battle high. The others stare at him with mixed expressions of concern until he manages to speak, voice tight with restrained amusement. “We sure got ourselves out of _pinch._ ”

He dissolves into riotous cackles again, feeling blocks of weight drop from his shoulders as he tries to hold his ribs together so his lungs won’t float away with how light he feels. Gladio’s low guffawing breaks out loud above the rushing of the rivers and Ignis offers them a wicked smile.

“Well,” he says, “this calls for a _shellabration._ ”

Another round of laughter strikes up like flint against steel and Prompto’s afraid of falling to pieces with the force of it. Noctis groans, though his tilted grin betrays his amusement. “That was terrible.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” says Gladio. “Stop being so _crabby._ ”

“Ugh, even I know that one was bad,” Prompto teases, his giggles petering out. He feels the most relaxed he has in a while, the bunching stress of everything sloughed off in release. 

Across the clearing he meets Noctis’ gaze and watches a dark shadow pass over his face, eyes falling flat and mouth tightening in a flat line. The tentative atmosphere snaps, Prompto’s shoulders bunching up as Noctis strides past him without a second glance to clear a spot free of rocks and roots for the tent. Ignis and Gladio have another silent conversation with only their expressions, but neither of them comment on it as they all settle into the routine of setting up camp.

“Will we be okay without a haven?” Prompto asks later on. The moon rises steadily, a waxing gibbous nearly as bright as the sun, but their warm dinner isn’t enough to fill the void of Noctis’ silence.

“Seeing as we’ve cleared out the local predators, we should be fine for a day or two,” says Ignis.

“Right…”

They all watch as Noctis stands and sets his dishes near the small kitchenette. Nothing about it is out of the ordinary, other than how he doesn’t say goodnight and retreats into the tent right after. He’s soon followed by Gladio, leaving Ignis and Prompto, who pushes the last of his crab chowder around the bowl with his spoon.

“How are you feeling?”

Prompto blinks, stares at the hazy broth, and takes stock. Physically, yes, he feels less on the brink of death than this morning when he’d woken up with a head full of cotton and regret. As for the rest of him, the answer doesn’t come as easy. 

Since the trip began, he’s managed to settle into his role, but the ever pressing presence of the future - of the treaty and their engagement, of the encroaching darkness in the atmosphere and all that’s left to come - makes it nearly impossible to fully relax. He wonders if he’s ever truly known the feeling; if he’s ever been anything other than a piece shuffled to and fro on an ever-expanding chess board. At home he’d had a rhythm, a routine to find some comfort in, but out here he’s on his own.

The waterfall is tucked around the bend, but he can hear the crash of water against the rocks below and quails at the thought of the task that lies behind. A _labyrinth_.

His silence is answer enough.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather stay behind?” Ignis asks. His tone isn’t suggestive of one way or the other.

“Ignis.” Prompto waits until their eyes meet, steel determination burning in his gaze. “I can’t sit back and do nothing.”

There’s a beat, stretching taut between them and forged from a mutual understanding of always striving to contribute, to help, until Ignis nods in acquiescence. He lowers his gaze as he methodically packs up the mess from dinner and Prompto douses the fire before following him into the tent, slipping into his usual spot on the far side.

Noctis is already asleep, not stirring as Prompto steps around his legs through the blankets, but Gladio’s eyes are open. They’re guarded, no hint of emotion shining through, and Prompto can only hold his gaze for a few seconds before he goes about his routine and settles down to face the canvas. 

For once his body does him a favor and doesn’t give him time to think as he falls asleep to the white noise of running water.

The morning chill bites sharp at Prompto’s nose the next morning. He’s bundled up in his blanket like a pastry and pressed close to Gladio, who is somehow still generating warmth like a heater. It’s the low simmering mortification in his stomach that convinces Prompto to move, getting dressed in his clothes and wishing for a jacket as he grabs his camera.

Outside, Ignis is already puttering about, sipping slowly on a can of ebony and rummaging through their food stock. A mist has risen off of the river, clinging to the shrubs in dewdrops and sending a shiver down Prompto’s spine. He waves to Ignis when he catches his eye and makes for the riverbank, plopping down on one of the smooth, wide rocks near the edge. It’s right at the point of the merge, both rivers coming together as one before curving down the valley.

The sun is slow to rise and the morning air burns in Prompto’s lungs, but as the yellow rays crest the far horizon his bones begin to warm. He snaps a few photos with his camera and idly tosses small pebbles into the water, watching the ripples and wondering if he can soak up enough sunlight to bring it underground.

His ears perk up when the canvass of the tent rustles, listening to the low timber of Gladio and Ignis exchanging greetings before boots crunch across the clearing. The golden light of a new dawn washes over Gladio like rich caramel, skin glowing. He’s still shirtless from sleep, but shows no sign of being cold. Without a word he settles down next to Prompto and together they watch the ripples from the last pebble get swept downstream. Chirping birdsong and buzzing insects fill the silence between them.

“Noctis and I talked last night.”

Prompto rolls a polished stone in his hand, but doesn’t throw it. “What did he tell you?”

Gladio shrugs, running a hand through his hair. It’s bushy from sleep, the tangles yet to be brushed out with care. “Wanted to hear it from you.”

When Prompto peeks over at him he’s staring at the curve of the river in the distance, brow furrowed in thought. He doesn’t seem angry, but looks can be deceiving and Prompto’s stomach rolls in apprehension as he drops the stone.

Despite the uneasiness between him and the others, he’s grown to truly enjoy their company - grown to crave it. Every joke, every brush of hands, every exquisite meal, every photo he takes only piles up more and more on the heap of thing he doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t know if he can go back to nothing after having a taste. 

Prompto clenches his jaw and stares hard at the opposite bank until the colors blur in a swirl of blue and green. Anger stirs back up inside of him, dark and viscous, like sludge he can’t shake off. He wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d kept his damn mouth shut; wouldn’t have to dig up bones of the past and lay them bare; wouldn’t have to draw their future into question and point a spotlight on the things he’s trying to keep burried.

“Look,” says Gladio, staring at his folded hands. “I know we haven’t exactly… gotten off on the right foot, but I’m trying to understand.”

Maybe if he throws them a piece, it’ll be enough. Staying silent is getting him nowhere, but how much is too much? How much is not enough? He takes his time - thinks over his options twice, three times, four - before he attempts to put it into words. 

“When we were at the club, I thought I saw…” He stops, gripping his hands together to stop them from shaking. It’s only a piece - not even detrimental to the important things. He can sacrifice this, he tells himself, to fix what he’s put in jeopardy. “I was reminded of someone from a long time ago and I broke down.”

“Is that why you didn’t think you could go through with the engagement?”

Prompto blinks, remembering how Noctis has asked him something similar during their fight. He takes the out and runs with it. “I’m not backing out. I have a duty and I’m committed to it, but I was so out of it and Noctis wouldn’t stop pushing and pushing. I can’t… it’s too…”

He breaks off, frustrated, and his knuckles blanch white as he squeezes and squeezes and squeezes. A large, calloused hand reaches out and gently covers his.

“I get it."

_No, you don’t,_ Prompto thinks, but he stays quiet and swallows around the bile and guilt threatening to choke him. His redirection worked, but he feels the farthest thing from satisfaction.

Gladio must take his expression to mean something else, because he smiles something small and sad. “We all have ghosts Prompto.”

When he takes his hand away and averts his gaze he seems much younger and softer than Prompto has ever seen him. The scar along the length of Gladio’s face falls into shadow with the rising sun, and now that he takes the time to look, Prompto spots the others peeking out along the lines of his tattoos. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Gladio glances back over, face blooming into a wolfish grin. 

“See something you like, Your Highness?”

Prompto bursts into flames, hands coming up to wave wildly. “No!” he shouts, only to backtrack frantically when Gladio’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I mean yes? I mean, uh, I - t-tattoos.”

It’s not the answer Gladio is expecting, judging by the way he freezes and glances down at the stark lines curling over his skin. The heat in Prompto’s cheeks only darkens when he’s offered an arm. 

He hesitates, unsure, before letting himself touch, gently tracing the swooping patterns with unsteady, reverent fingers. Gladio’s skin is soft and warm and Prompto is brought back to that morning, when the temperature was still frigid and he’d woken up curled close.

Each feather interlocks intricately with the others painted up over Gladio’s biceps and along the wings of his shoulder blades. Prompto’s only seen the front and back of the tattoo a few times when Gladio was changing shirts or settling into reps of pushups against the haven stone, but they are just as beautiful and detailed. He wonders how long it took to finish. He wonders if it hurt.

“Why an eagle?”

“It’s tradition,” says Gladio, but his mouth pulls in a tight grimace before smoothing out. “It took a lot for me to come to terms with my duty - to my kingdom, to Noctis.

“I thought of it more as a brand than anything, something I couldn’t escape, but when I stepped into it, I - I realized I wanted it.” Gladio stares at his other hand, curling his fingers into a fist as he rolls the words in his mouth. “They symbolize power, strength, courage, and I wanted something to remind myself I am a shield - not only for Noctis, but for my family - for Iris, my father - and Ignis, too.”

When he meets Prompto’s eyes his gaze is full of an indiscernible emotion, but it feels itchy in Prompto’s chest and he shifts uncomfortably. It must be nice to have chosen the meaning - to have people who inspire such fierce love and determination and loyalty.

“Are there no tattoos in Niflheim?” asks Gladio.

Prompto drops his hands as if scorched and hunches his shoulders. “There are,” he says, cursing the waver in his voice, “just none so beautiful.”

He shoots Gladio a wry grin, but it’s fractured, sharp glass pulling at his lips. Gladio’s eyes dart down to the silver bracelet clasped around Prompto’s wrist and follow keenly when he shifts it out of sight. The questions hang on the horizon as he gears up to ask, but thankfully they’re interrupted by Ignis calling them to breakfast. Prompto jumps up, tripping over his feet in his haste to retreat out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Noctis stumbles out of the tent, shoes shoved half on as he slumps into the nearest camping chair, and Prompto avoids him as he takes the furthest one. Plates are passed around and Ignis and Gladio pick up a conversation to fill the silence. 

Before he knows it, all the food is packed away and the loose items of camp secured or placed in the armiger for safe keeping. They leave the tent up to have something to come back to after the ordeal and smother the fire. Prompto tries to keep busy to quell his growing nerves, but all too soon they’re heading upriver towards the waterfall.

The roar grows louder and louder as they approach, until the wild beast appears around the bend. It’s intimidating how fast and thunderous the water rushes over the edge of the mountain to slam into the river below. Prompto stares up at the long line of it and wonders how they’re going to find any entrance behind it if it’s any more than halfway up.

Noctis takes the lead, warping several boulders ahead to scout paths for the rest of them to scramble up safely. It’s slow work and sweat trickles down the back of Prompto’s neck by the time they draw alongside the waterfall. It runs clear, the sheet of it falling down and warping the landscape behind it into the purest form of smudged watercolor. Mist clings to their clothes and Prompto watches his every step carefully in fear of slipping on the dewy grass.

“What’s that?” asks Noctis, already warping ahead to investigate.

“It’s as much of an entrance as anything,” says Gladio.

At last Prompto reaches a dry ledge and stares up into the pitch dark yawning maw before them, heart pounding against his ribs. They gather in front of the cave opening to peer inside, but nothing is visible past where the slanted sunlight reaches before the darkness swallows it without a shadow. When his eyes adjust he can see the cavern twisting deeper into the mountain.

With a click, a white light illuminates the rock of the inside entrance and Prompto shifts awkwardly as the others all clip round flashlights to their clothes. Ignis catches him staring and his eyes flicker in realization.

“Here,” he says, stepping close. He pulls out a spare and sets about attaching it to Prompto’s vest. 

When he’s done affixing it he clicks it on, light cutting sharp against his cheekbones. Ignis meets his gaze in a final, silent question and Prompto steadies his frantic pulse and nods.

It’s freezing inside, more so than the night before, and it takes all of Prompto’s strength to not wrap his arms around his chest. The coursing fear inside him keeps him alert, eyes flicking to every shadow bouncing in their lights against the stone. He hates being surrounded like this - hates the oppressive trap of it and how the air tastes stale despite being only a few steps from the entrance. Frost glitters on the walls the further in they go and Prompto has to carefully plan his steps to avoid slipping on a stray patch of ice.

As they push onwards, he realizes he’s humming softly underneath his breath to stay calm, but no one comments on it so he doesn’t stop. It feels comforting to have control over even such a small detail, filling the space between the distant dripping water and the retreating thunder of the falls.

They move through several larger caverns that bottleneck into compressed corridors as they wind further into the mountain. Their footsteps throw sounds into dark corners and Prompto jumps at more than a couple shadows before they come to a halt.

Noctis peers over the edge of rock at a sheer expanse of ice sloping down into the void where their lights can’t reach. “Think we should go?” he asks, and Prompto wants to shake his head frantically.

How would they get back up after? What if it ends in a drop big enough to kill them? Before he can voice any of his concerns, Noctis steps out. Gladio stops him with an arm across the chest only to take his place instead, setting back to slide down along the ice. His voice calls back out from the dark, distant and small. “Not a huge drop, just be careful how you land.”

Ignis and Noctis follow soon after, leaving Prompto panicking on the edge with no other choice but to join them unless he wants to stand up here alone in the cold dark. He steps out.

The rush of sliding down sends his stomach reeling, adrenaline pumping through his veins violently as the icy caverns flash by in the white of his light. The bottom drops out below him and old muscle memory kicks in as he lands in a roll, coming up on his feet. Dizziness hits, disorientation ringing all his alarms until a hand at his arm steadies him.

They continue on, hitting dead end after dead end and every time Noctis merely flips around, trekking back to the last fork in the road. A wonky map slowly takes shape in Prompto’s mind. It’s hard to keep track of all the twists and turns, but at least he knows which ways they’ve tried and which they haven’t. They’re too far from the entrance for any semblance of comfort, but the calm methodical guess and check of their adventure helps keep his mind focused enough for distraction. _Labyrinth_ , his footsteps echo, _labyrinth._

They come across another slope frozen solid. There’s a path winding alongside it, but when they hit another dead end Gladio peers over the edge. “Another one?”

There’s a skittering noise down below and Prompto becomes his heartbeat, all he can feel, all he can hear. It may be nothing, or it may be one of the stray animals they’d mentioned before. 

It’s too cold for them down here, his thoughts whisper and thick fear clogs his throat. He’s voiceless when the others step onto the ice and slide down and Prompto forces his feet to move. He refuses to be a liability, refuses to sit back and do nothing.

The hurtling sensation of flying over the ice is the same mix of terror and exhilaration as it was before, but this time when he lands, the panic doesn’t leave. The clang of metal rings in his ears and the bright blue shatter of warping and magic sears into his eyes as the blood drains from his face. The world shifts beneath his feet and he freezes, staring up into the bloodcurdling face of an arachne daemon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me ahaha, I'm working ahead as you read this! Let me know your thoughts? :3c Y'all are amazing, seriously, thank you to everyone reading, kudo-ing, bookmarking, sharing, and just generally supporting this story. It keeps me going <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	12. It's Been Said That Time Heals Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s a warm rain, seeping deep into his skin to slowly thaw the ice in his veins. A ghost of it remains - his horror fresh and upturned in light of what they’ve learned._
> 
> Daemons have returned, a secret is revealed, and an understanding is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloweeeeeeen!! I can't believe how far we are into this story already??? It feels like it's flying by! That said, we still have so much adventure left! I've had a tentative 38 chapter count on my outline for a while - to give you an idea. I'm hoping that this year's nanowrimo will push me further ahead into that. Thank you all for taking this journey with me and I hope you continue to enjoy it <3 
> 
> Big thank you to pigeon-princess!! for looking over and discussing everything with me even when life gets busy. It means the world to me! More thanks to Juli for beta-ing and reassuring me when insecurities pop up and to Tera for sticking with me through thick and thin. Love you all so much. Also this fic is now available in [Russian!!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7437522) Thank you to [rushka-grechnevaya-kashka](http://rushka-grechnevaya-kashka.tumblr.com/) and their betas for working hard on the translation!
> 
> Chapter title is from Stay With Me - Acoustic Version by You Me At Six, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT) Warning for canon typical fighting/violence, injury, and implied abuse in this chapter. Nothing gruesome but please read with caution if needed.
> 
> Enjoy~

Flashes of nightmares cycle through Noctis’ mind, looming and grotesque as they sink their claws into old wounds. He hasn’t seen a daemon since he was young - small and fragile and injured as he uselessly watched a marilith tear through his retinue in numb horror. 

The aracne before him bares her teeth, the sharp, white points glinting in the beam of his flashlight, and he stumbles his landing as his stomach turns violently. She drops from the ceiling and unfurls her spindly legs to tower him, eyes flashing. He warps out of reach and the sound of the others landing behind him kicks in his instincts, a reassurance his back is covered as he dives headfirst into battle.

Molten lava panic bubbles beneath his skin, but she moves too quickly for it to crack his cold cut clarity or spill into the hollow in his chest. His mind is quiet as he works up a distraction, weaving in and around her and careful to duck away before she can strike. He keeps out of range as Gladio’s greatsword crashes down, bouncing off the arachne’s legs with a loud smack which echoes off the dark cavern walls, accompanied by a fit of furious hissing and screeching. In the midst of the fray, Ignis calls out her weak points and throws a dagger to lodge in the daemon’s bulk. 

None of their efforts appear to have effect - if anything, all they’ve done is make her more angry - and Noctis considers calling forth his budding collection of royal arms to cut the battle short, but the thought of exhausting himself so early into their search holds him back.

What if this isn’t a one-off coincidence and they run into more daemons? He won’t be any use if he falls into stasis now, he thinks, and summons his own broadsword to bring it down for a linkstrike with Ignis. It reverberates down to his bones, rattling his teeth and lungs.

They manage to draw first blood, black ichor dripping down onto the ice in a double slippery hazard, but still the arachne shows no sign of slowing. She wheels about, maw stretched open around an ear-splitting scream.

A sharp crack drowns it out, a few smaller icicles shaking free from the ceiling as a flare arcs a path high above. It sears behind Noctis’ eyelids and he manages to tear his gaze away right as it bursts into brilliant white light. All the shadows flee at its touch and a surge of confidence rises up in Noctis like the break of dawn as the arachne shrieks and writhes away in pain. She staggers off balance, injured and slowing, and he uses the opening in her weakened defenses to unleash a devastating combination of attacks

“Get back!” Ignis shouts.

The warning rings sharp and Noctis warps away, a rush of air following behind where the arachne’s nails passed an inch from the shell of his ear. He ends up on the other side of the cavern, stumbling into Gladio who steadies him with a hand on the shoulder. His grip tightens painfully and Noctis watches in horror as the arachne whips about to face Prompto, who’s frozen, gun slack in hand and gaze stuck on the light high above as it fizzes out.

Noctis’ feet move before he thinks, Gladio close behind, and his eyes adjust in the dim light as Ignis darts forward from another direction. He isn’t close enough, none of them are. “Prompto move!”

It startles him from his trance, chin snapping down as he raises his gun to level a shot at the advancing daemon. Stumbling back on unsteady feet, Prompto fires round after round to no effect, and Noctis feels the air splinter around him without a second thought. He shatters back into form right as the arachne’s thick leg catches Prompto full in the chest and throws him out of reach to slam against the cave wall with a resounding crack. Forgetting to tuck into a roll, Noctis tumbles to the ground, ice scraping along his cheek.

Fear clogs thick and sticky in his throat as he roars, springing up to lunge for the arachne and summoning the royal arms in a swirl of blue magic. He descends on her in a blur of blinding fury, mind and memory blank as he finishes it with a final attack. The daemon falls, cave silent save for their panting and the distant drip of water.

Noctis falters, energy sapped from channeling his ancestors’ borrowed strength, but he doesn’t regret it and when he spins around Prompto is already on his feet next to Ignis, a hand pressed shakily to the wall.

“Shit, Prom. Are you alright?” he asks, making to dash over and instead teetering right into Gladio’s grip. The relief flooding his veins is enough for him to forget he’s supposed to be angry and he sags into the support.

“Sorry,” says Prompto, voice reedy and strained. “That was stupid of me.” He straightens up and winces, Ignis setting a hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

“Nonsense. Have you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Any ache or dizziness?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Ignis’ lips press into a straight line. “If anything changes, you let us know right away.”

Feet shifting to steady him firmly against the barrage of attention, Prompto nods. In the scattered light he’’s pale - more so than normal - but seems more or less in one piece. It’s the first time since Lestallum Noctis lets himself look for more than a stolen glance, but the coals of his anger have dampened and refuse to reignite when Prompto seems like he’ll fall over with the slightest breeze.

“How did you do that?” asks Gladio.

“What?”

He gestures aimlessly. “The light.”

“I’m… not sure,” says Prompto, brow scrunching as he looks down at his hands.

It was magic; Noctis knew from the familiar tug in his chest. Ignis and Gladio will sometimes tap into his power as a direct line to fuel a special technique, but it had taken _ages_ to perfect. It wasn’t something to master blindly in a dire situation, and certainly not unprompted.

“Perhaps we should take our leave here to regroup and come back later,” says Ignis, and the suggestion fans life into Prompto, his cheeks flushing red. 

“Please don’t stop because of me, I want this over with.”

With a skeptical hum, Ignis touches a finger to his lip in thought. “Regardless, our stock of curatives is in poor supply to face an abundance of fiends. Noct?”

Gladio taps him gently on the shoulder and he jolts. He’s close enough for Noctis to feel the warmth of his skin. It’s comforting, grounding. 

“All right?”

“I’m fine, just…” Noctis shakes his head to clear the ghosts. Later. He’ll deal with them later. Gladio’s knowing gaze promises him that.

_“Noctis.”_

_Gladio’s footsteps gave him away before he climbs into the tent. He settles on their sleeping bags next to Noctis, the whispers of the fabric falling quiet, and waits._

_“You and Iggy… you’re with me because you want to be, right?” asks Noctis. He traces the whorls of his palms and refuses to look up. “If you weren’t bound by duty and family, would you still have chosen me?”_

_The silence stretches out between them like a taut rubber band and when Noctis glances out of the corner of his eye Gladio’s expression is pinched._

_“Did Prompto say something?”_

_“It wasn’t his fault.” Noctis drops his gaze back to his callouses. “I… cornered him, I guess.”_

_A hand covers his, stilling their movements beneath Gladio’s warm palm. “Noctis, what happened?”_

_The words push at his lips, eager to spill and be lain bare. He’s unused to keeping things from Gladio or Ignis so long and they stick like burrs in the back of his throat._

_“Keeping secrets gets us nowhere, Noctis. We’re supposed to be in this together.”_

_“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps, then falters at the hurt in Gladio’s eyes as he pulls his hand away. “I’m sorry.”_

_The tension ebbs out of Gladio’s shoulders, but his jaw stays clenched. Noctis fiddles with the edge of a blanket and asks, “Is the name Cinis familiar to you?”_

_“No. Should it be?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_Outside, Noctis can hear Ignis and Prompto talking lowly and he wonders if this is a split interrogation - wonders if it’s going any smoother on their end._

_“When we were in the club, things were fine. We drank a little and danced, but no one recognized us,” says Noctis. “I went to the bathroom and when I came back he was talking to someone and just... freaked out. He kept talking about someone named Cinis, getting upset, saying all these things-”_

_“What things?”_

_Noctis hesitates. “Things about using and leaving him, about promises and... something he can’t do despite someone wanting him to.”_

_He holds up a hand to stop Gladio’s half-formed protests. “I know, I know. I should have told you guys right away, but he was a wreck. I thought it was something to do with our engagement and wanted to give him a chance to explain.” He laughs hollowly, voice thick. “Look how well that went. I asked him about it all, but he took it the wrong way because I never say the right things.”_

_Noctis tries to hold in the moisture collecting on his lashes, but it’s pointless as his cheeks grow tacky. He’s so tired, and when Gladio pulls him into a hug that’s all it takes. He hiccups. “All of this is such a mess. Gladio, what do I do?”_

_“I’m not gonna lie. I’m pretty upset with you right now, Noct,” says Gladio and his chest expands around a deep sigh, “but I promised I’d try and I meant it. I can kind of understand why you waited, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”_

_Noctis’ fingers clench in the leather of Gladio’s jacket. He makes a small noise of protest when Gladio pulls back, only enough for their eyes to meet._

_“Next time you tell us right away.”_

_There’s no room for argument and Noctis nods, thoroughly chastised. Gladio folds him back into his arms. “Good. I’ll talk to him and see if we can work this out, all right?”_

_Noctis doesn’t answer. He isn’t sure they can fix this at all, this expanding fissure held together by tentative political ties, but he’s too tired to argue._

_“And for the record,” says Gladio. “I don’t know if we’d still be together if things hadn’t happened they had. But they did, and I’m glad they did.”_

_Something settles in Noctis’ chest, the pained flutter of his heart falling still in their familiar affection._

They haven’t had time to discuss Gladio’s conversation with Prompto, but the burning coil in Noctis’ chest cooled under the balm of Gladio’s reassurances, and they give him strength now.

“We keep going,” he says. “If things are too much, we’ll turn around.”

Both Gladio and Ignis shift their jaws, but they don’t dispute. Noctis knows they will always have his back, even in spite of their own misgivings.

“Did you know there would be daemons down here?” asks Prompto. He glances between the three of them warily, as if they held information that important back from him on purpose - as if Noctis marched into a mountain riddled with his worst nightmares voluntarily.

The echo of their fight holds him back from reaching out in comfort, anger soured into a bitter taste at the back of his throat. It’s as hard as anything to swallow. 

He thinks of how a sense of normalcy had returned during their fight with the shieldshears; how they’d laughed and bantered like they weren’t still balanced precariously on eggshells. Noctis wants so desperately to go back to the tentative stability they’d had before, but he isn’t sure if he deserves it. To admit his error - in pushing, in demanding - would take more than he has to give. His best bet lies in pushing onward in hopes of solid ground.

“No,” says Gladio, “so we better stay on our guard.”

There are two branches out of the cavern they’ve landed in and Noctis peers down one and then the other, eyeing how it slopes down into the mountain.

“This way.”

With careful steps they skirt the rapidly evaporating puddle of black sludge which used to be the arachne. The smell clogs Noctis’ nose, the leftover dregs of adrenaline racing through his veins as his thick soled boots find traction on the slippery ground.

He’s second guessing his choice when the path slants back around in the direction they came from and is about to call for a turnabout when the ground bubbles black beneath his feet. It sticks to his shoes in thick globs when he leaps away, blade summoned in an instant. 

These daemons are unlike anything he’s ever seen - wobbling gelatinous blobs with glowing eyes and stubby arms. They seep across the ground, splitting from a congealed group and Noctis’ blade cuts through one like thick butter, the remains fizzing away behind it. It’s a fast fight and they come away unscathed, but shaken and sticky. 

They double back, heading down the opposite corridor only to nearly topple over a sheer cliff. Noctis’ hands shake in frustration - or maybe it’s the shock settling in - but before he can declare the mission a bust, Gladio taps his arm and tilts his head towards the edge. Tucked around the curve of the wall is a ledge barely wide enough for their feet, and Noctis swallows thickly. 

“Watch your step,” says Gladio and he follows close behind as they edge across to the other side. 

The rock behind Noctis freezes his palms, seeping through his shirt and jacket, but he welcomes the distraction from the long drop below. His flashlight beam disappears a few feet in, swallowed by the yawning gloom, but if he squints there are scattered patches of ice highlighted by the filtered blue light in the distance.

It’s hard to tell how long they’ve been down there - their phones went out of service range long ago and the time loses all meaning underground. Noctis thinks of the labyrinths in Leide and how dusty and dark they’d been, full twisting paths lined with rusted generators and mining tracks. He’d take them over here any day, trade the daemons and biting ice for ingrained sand and suffocating heat in a heartbeat.

At last, he steps onto solid ground and marvels at the cavern stretching beyond. It’s the largest yet, with paths splitting to criss cross high and low over each other. Icicles dangle from the ceiling and stick up from the ground like rows of mismatched teeth and as the path winds along the outer rim, they stay well away from the edge.

They get tied up in a few other skirmishes along the way - more blobs and a few scampering small imps they cut through like grass. Despite the ease of the fights and the sharp chill in the air, Noctis works up a sweat built on apprehension and shock.

It’s not the end.

More slick paths, more frozen ice floes, more daemons. It’s the hardest royal tomb they’ve searched for yet and when they hit a dead end for the third time in a row he feels stretched thin enough to snap. It’s Ignis who spots the precarious ledge this time, the end of which is tucked out of sight behind the corner and Noctis continues to lead the way, inching slowly around the curve.

On the other side, pale moonlight filters in through a large opening cut into the rock and ice of the ceiling like a skylight to the stars. They must be near the top of the mountain, slid down all that way only to climb back up. Noctis can feel it in his calves.

The path stops there in an oval plateau of frost and snow, and a quiet hush falls over them all in awe of the heavens.

It breaks. In a flash of smoke a tall figure emerges, hovering above the ground enshrouded in a wispy cloak. A handful of imps follow in its wake and they all succumb to the throes of battle.

The larger daemon emerges as the mastermind off the bat, hanging back as the imps move to distract and overwhelm. It observes, strategizes, and when the openings strike, it uses _magic._

Noctis feels it before he sees it, the hair standing straight on the back of his neck as power brews in the air. He manages to duck out of the way of the elemental spell, sidestepping the ruined ground to dive back in with vigor. 

They’re scraping by on the skin of their teeth, giving away their strategies, their strengths and weaknesses, and the next time the heady thrum of magic fills the cavern, their luck falters.

The daemon lands a hand on Ignis’ weak shoulder gripping with a glowing, red palm as he cries out and falls to his knees. Gladio is there in the next heartbeat, dispatching it with a heavy-handed swing and heaving Ignis up with his arm tossed across his shoulders.

“Specs!” Noctis darts across the cavern, plucking a hi-potion from the armiger. It’s their last one, but Ignis is still leaning heaving against Gladio’s side and the arm of his shirt is torn.

“I’m all right,” he says. “Merely singed. It hardly requires much attention.”

Nothing in his tone gives him away, but he’s holding his arm at a stiff angle, jaw clenched around the words. Noctis doesn’t bother with a reply, holding it out for him to take. 

Gladio squeezes his wrist gently. “Ignis.”

With a reluctance grimace, Ignis takes the bottle and throws it back, posture easing as the magic reverts whatever the daemon damaged. He takes a deep breath and pulls away to stand free on his own two feet.

It’s the first time they’ve all been together on level ground in a while and Noctis catches Prompto watching keenly. He’s still out of sorts, ruffled and unsteady, and Noctis gathers his resolve. He heads for the opening in the wall, chest pinching in relief when the ornate doors of a royal tomb come into view. The sooner they get out of here, the better.

The key is a worn, old thing Cor had given him at the site of his first royal arm, sitting heavy in his palm like the weight of victory. It’s a wonder the lock isn’t frozen solid, but the key slides in easy, tumblers clicking into place and doors parting to the side.

Inside is all white marble floors and walls with black, ornate embellishments. The tomb is empty aside from a pedestal in the center - a long table with a boxed urn at the head of a carved statue,the past ruler’s legacy immortalized in stone. Two swords rest in their stone hands, wicked edges catching fire in the beams of their lights.

“Tomb of the Wanderer,” Ignis reads, translating the inscription along the foot of the table.

Noctis hums in half interest, tired and battered and ready to get the ordeal over and done with. He raises his hand, reaching deep inside for the familiar pull of the Lucii’s magic. The blue shattering light fills the room, an echo of the swords glimmering before them as they rise up and swirl. A sharp gasp reminds Noctis he has an extra member audience, but he casts the thought aside to maintain his concentration in asking for his ancestors’ guidance.

This is always the hardest part, waiting for approval time and time again, and trying not to tense up as the mirrored swords strike him through the chest. It’s cold and heavy, constricting his lungs threaten until they threaten to give. He’s thankful it doesn’t hurt more than that, staggering beneath the brunt force of magic. Across the room, Prompto stares with wide eyes, the light dancing across his cheeks before it vanishes in a flash.

Clearing his throat, Ignis shifts to lean against a smooth wall. “I suppose that’s that.”

“We should rest,” says Gladio and digs out a couple water bottles and granola bars to pass around.

Prompto hasn’t budged, staring at where the magic disappeared with glassy eyes, but he straightens up at the sound of Noctis’ footsteps when he approaches, granola bar in hand. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and accepts the food, crinkling the wrapper, but leaving it unopened. “Cold.”

It’s then Noctis notices the tremors - astrals, Prompto isn’t even wearing sleeves - and guilt floods in thick and heavy. In the wake of their fight he’d turn a blind eye without thinking and now he faced the consequences. Before he knows it he’s pulling a jacket out of the armiger. “Here.”

It’s his favorite one, all dark gloss and blue detailing. On either side of the chest are two roaring Behemoths, a third embroidered in full body form on the back. He can’t help but wonder if the real thing is lurking out there in the world somewhere. It’s not the warmest, but it’ll do until they make it out of the ice.

“Thank you,” says Prompto, taking the jacket gently and pulling it on with stiff movements.

Noctis wants to reach out and adjust the lapels, but he holds back, unsure of what he’s allowed. “It looks good on you,” he says instead, and the echoed memory of Galdin Quay strikes like a coiled spring.

It feels ages ago - Prompto timidly asking about his outfit, walking out to face the crowd arm in arm, Prompto falling, drowning - and now they’re deep within a mountain with words and hurt cluttering the space between them and Noctis has no idea how to get back. The skin beneath his eyes pulls taut in a familiar drag and he wants nothing more than to sleep the year away.

“We’ll be out of here before you know it,” says Gladio and herds them back through the door to the tomb.

It’s easier said than done. 

Retracing their steps back to the entrances is an arduous undertaking, but thankfully there are fewer daemons left in the wake. They find the path that doubles back near the entrance, a faint gust of fresh air washing over them, and Noctis breathes a little easier.

When they round the next corner, he flinches back at the natural light - dim beneath the clouds, but so stark to the pitch dark it nearly burns. Noctis checks his phone he realizes they were down there for over half a day and the weight of every single one drops deep in his bones.

The overcast sky has opened up in a light drizzle and somehow he uncovers the strength to keep going, barely aware of the others following him down the wet rocks. It’s a warm rain, seeping deep into his skin to slowly thaw the ice in his veins. A ghost of it remains - his horror fresh and upturned in light of what they’ve learned.

The tent’s still pitched where they left it in planned foresight and Noctis dives for it, working off his mucky boots to toss outside under the edge of the tarp.

Pressure builds behind his eyes and his head throbs as all his unanswered questions tumble forward out of the crumbling haze shock. How could daemons be so abundant this close to Lestallum? Many go their whole lives with only the faintest recollection and they were lucky. Noctis’ back aches, low and tender, and he’s unsure if it’s complaining about the strain or the memories.

Ignis pauses, hand halfway to removing his glasses for the night. “Prompto are you all right?”

Halfway to burrowing in his sleeping bag, Noctis’ eyes snap up to find Prompto sat awkwardly by the zipped tent flap. In the warm light of their camping lantern he’s deathly pale - more so than the case of nerves Noctis had originally suspected would bring - and hunched over with his arm tucked under the loaned jacket to cradle his side.

A spike of fear drives hot between Noctis’ ribs when Prompto doesn’t answer, a guilty grimace flashing across his face before it’s steamrolled into indifference. 

“Your Highness,” says Ignis pointedly, and Prompto flinches. “If you’re hurt we need to know so we may assist you.”

“I didn’t-” Prompto falters. His voice is wobbly when he tries again, words slow and cautious. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Gladio is the one to reach out, using deliberate movements to relay his intentions as he slides the borrowed jacket from his shoulders. Now that he’s looking for it, Noctis spots the tears in the side of his shirt and twists his fingers together to hold back from crowding forward. When Gladio tugs at the hem of his shirt in question he gets a resigned nod in answer, Prompto’s arm coming up to grasp at his shoulder. He doesn’t move when Gladio pulls the fabric up out of the way, clenching his fist in his jacket.

A hurt noise slips out of Noctis’ lips and Prompto curls in on himself at the sound. The cut itself isn’t as bad as it could be - three long gashes running jagged across his ribs, thin and barely bleeding - but it’s the pulsing green tinge and ugly smattering of bruises that seizes Noctis’ throat. He can’t imagine how Prompto made it five feet with such an injury, let alone through an entire labyrinth.

“When did this happen?” Gladio asks, the horror in his voice reflecting in Noctis’ chest and Ignis’ expression.

Prompto recoils, jaw and fists clenched. “When we fought the arachne.”

It flashes through Noctis’ mind like a flipbook - Prompto lit by the final gasping light of his magic as he’s flung across the cavern like a ragdoll, the way he stood on shaky limbs and insisted he was all right, how he’d gone silent and hung on the fringes of their battles. Noctis should have known and the guilt rises up with a vengeance, clawing at him as he retraces every slope of ice they slid down, every fight against other daemons, every tightrope thin ledge they weathered - and Prompto had followed along without a whisper of complaint.

“Next time, please don’t hesitate to tell us when you are injured, so we may attend to it sooner,” says Ignis, selecting a curative from the armiger.

“It wasn’t as bad, at first,” Prompto mumbles, and accepts the glass vial apprehensively. “What is this?”

“An antidote,” says Ignis, voice tight. “We used our last potion inside the caves.”

Noctis shoots a knowing gaze at the side of his face despite how Ignis refuses to meet his eyes, knowing exactly the type of self-deprecating thoughts going through his head. 

If anything, Noctis the one who pushed the last one on him, and it was his idea to continue on in spite of the daemons and their dwindling supply. They’ve all had their turns with injury and illness, but the absolute worst were the times he had been the fault - the scar down Gladio’s face and the shoulder which gives Ignis grief on rainy days. He hates being the cause of their pain, even if they don’t see it that way.

This isn’t much different. Prompto is his responsibility, but he hadn’t paid close enough attention to notice something was wrong.

“Drink it, you’ll feel better,” says Gladio and pulls the stopper from the bottle with a pop, a trailing wisp of vapor rising from inside.

With a last glance between them all, Prompto scrunches his nose and downs it quickly only to brightens in shock. The line of his shoulders relaxes and it’s only then Noctis realizes they’d been bunched tight against pain. The knotted shame in his stomach coils tighter.

“Curatives are common place in Lucis. They’re designed to work on a much slower biological scale, but Noctis infuses ours with magic to speed up and enhance their effects,” says Ignis as he takes the empty bottle and trades it for a roll of bandage. “I apologize for not being more prepared.”

Prompto remains silent as Gladio tugs his shirt off gently. He shrinks slightly, self-conscious hands flitting aimlessly before Noctis reaches out to take them both in his. If Prompto is surprised at the affection he doesn’t show it.

With the potion’s work, the bruises have faded to a mottled yellow and the sickly green hue is gone, but the scratches are still open and angry red. Noctis squeezes his hand. It’s the first time he’s seen Prompto shirtless in more than passing and to his embarrassment he has to fight down a blush before his eyes catch on something else, and it dies in a bucket of cold realization. 

They’re harder to spot at a glance, a scattering of thin, silvery scars across his chest, and when Noctis meets Gladio’s eyes he knows Prompto’s back must not be much better. No one mentions them, unsure of how deep they reach and vividly aware of the distance between them and Prompto, but they notice and remember.

Rain patters against the tarp, filling the empty space between Noctis’ thoughts and speculation as Ignis sets to dressing the wound. A soft noise slips from Prompto’s lips at the pull and Ignis mutters an apology - its underlying intent for more than the mere discomfort. When he’s finished his hands linger, making sure the bandage is fastened securely.

Noctis finds Prompto another shirt, grabbing one of his own and feeling no shame for it at all when Gladio gives him a sidelong glance. He fusses with piling the blankets around their spread out sleeping bags.

“I’m sorry,” says Prompto as he’s guided to lie on his uninjured side in the middle.

Gladio follows close behind him. “Tell us next time,” he says, leaving no room for argument. It's the tone he uses when he means there won't _be_ a next time, not if he can help it.

Another thought occurs to Noctis as he lies down, muscles screaming - if they return to Niflheim with Prompto in less than perfect condition, unintentional or not, he can’t imagine what they’d do. He recalls Nyx’s observations in Lucis, thinks again of the old and faded scars, and wonders if anyone there would care at all. He hates himself for even considering it.

He cares. A lot.

The light is flicked off and Ignis curls close beside him. In the cover of the night, Noctis reaches out and kisses his cheek, landing on the soft skin beneath his eye in the dark. It’s a reassurance and a comfort, an attempt to console the guilt rooted in both their hearts. Ignis reaches back and squeezes his hand.

Unlike the biting cold of the caves, the air above ground is muggy and stifling, heat rolling over the hills from Lestallum. The cool breeze which had skimmed across the water has fallen flat and their blankets end up shoved near their feet as they shuffle around to get comfortable.

Sleep taunts Noctis, drawing close only to dance away, and despite being full ready to drop into its arms he lies awake. Across the tent, Gladio’s steady breathing evens out and Ignis follows close behind.

The shock has long worn off, replaced with pulsing anxiety as his mind runs everything over and over again in an endless loop - the daemons, the nights growing longer and darker, Prompto prepared to bear his injury by himself, the cold weight of his family line’s power crushing his chest. It’s only when a sound snags in his throat that Noctis realizes he’s shaking.

It’s too dark - the tent too small for the balloon of panic swelling in his chest. He waits a little longer to make sure the others are asleep before slipping from the pile as quietly as he can. 

Outside it isn’t any cooler and although the rain has stopped, the low clouds block any light from the moon or stars. Noctis fights off the fear freezing his veins and stumbles towards the river before freezing in his tracks, scarcely daring to move.

Tiny pinpricks of yellow light drift lazily through the air all around him, blinking on and off, on and off, in a secret message of their own. Noctis blinks along with them, thrown out of his spiral and holds out his hands, motionless to try and catch one. The small bug lands on his fingers and he cups them around it, bringing it in for a closer look.

Behind him he hears the rustle of tent canvas and light footsteps, but he doesn’t check who it is - staring instead at the pinprick of light cradled between his palms.

“What are they?”

Noctis opens his hand to show Prompto what he caught and it flashes lazily once, twice, before taking flight to join the others surrounding them. “Fireflies.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The last of Noctis’ anger has all but died, left somewhere buried beneath the mountain, and they watch the fireflies dance around them, the roar of the waterfall muffled in the distance. 

One lands on Prompto’s outstretched hand and Noctis watches him out of the corner of his eye. “Cinis was a diplomat from Accordo.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” he says, and the firefly leaves as he crosses his arms, staring out at the river. “I met him at a party in Gralea.”

Noctis waits, lets Prompto collect his words and takes each one as the gift it is. He doesn’t have to tell him any of this, but he is, pulling the story out like rotten teeth.

“He didn’t realize who I was, you know? Talked to me like I was more than my title. I thought I’d never see him again.” Prompto laughs, brittle and empty. “A few months later he returned as an assistant to a visiting ambassador.

“At first I didn’t want anything to do with him, but he was persistent. He’d tell me stories about growing up in Altissia, how he used to sneak out to go to parties along the canals and how his godmother would pinch his ears when she found out. We’d talk for ages and I was so relieved to be treated normally.”

Prompto’s eyes are damp and although Noctis wants to reach out and take his clenched hand, he refrains, letting him collect his thoughts. He can understand the desperation - the longing for someone outside the ring of royal influence, someone genuine. It may be why he held so tightly to their friendship back in Tenebrae, Prompto his first friend made without connection, but in the end it seemed even he wasn’t exempt from the tangled web.

A spark of envy burns sharp at the fond recollection in Prompto’s voice, at how someone else was there when he needed and Noctis hadn’t even known, but he smothers it best he can and keeps listening.

“I wanted everything with him,” Prompto says and the words spill out in a rush. “He promised to write when they left, promised to be there for me, but I never heard from him again. I don’t know if he was toying with me and got bored or if something happened or went wrong. He was supposed to _be there for me._ ”

It’s hard not to react as Prompto swipes angrily at his cheeks, but Noctis holds his tongue and tries to process. It’s clear this hurt him, has left deep, lingering wounds, and he sense there’s more to the story. It’s hard not to push, but he learned that lesson the first time. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

With a shuddering breath, Prompto shakes his head. “I’ve had time to come to terms with it,” he says and meets Noctis’ eyes unflinchingly, cheeks damp and eyes dry. “I meant it when I said I’m here because I want to be.”

“And everything else?” He hates to ask, but he has to.

Prompto falls quiet, watching the fireflies float around each other. “It was just a ghost.”

“Right.”

It feels a lackluster end to it all, the past unrelenting its grip on either of them - both good and bad memories. Noctis thinks of how distorted his vision of Prompto became over time and wonders if the same has happened with him and Cinis. Time is relentless, scrubbing some things clean and warping others beyond recognition.

“I’m sorry,” says Prompto, “for what I said about Ignis and Gladio. I know you all care for each other deeply.”

Noctis fidgets. He’d expected this to come up eventually, thought they’d done an okay job of keeping it on the downlow so far, but they’ve never truly been good at hiding their affections. “Do you mind?”

Silence. When he glances back over Prompto’s ducked his head, a sad sort of smile on his lips. 

“No.”

It isn’t clear if he’s telling the truth and Noctis isn’t sure which he’d prefer. He changes course. “I’m sorry I pushed so hard. You were right, you don’t owe me anything.”

“You had reason to be concerned-”

Noctis holds up a hand to stop him. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says again, “but I want you to know you don’t have to carry all these secrets alone. I’m here to help, if you ever want or need.” 

Slowly, he reaches out to take Prompto’s hand, smiling when their fingers fold together neatly. The tears on Prompto’s cheeks have dried and when their eyes meet, Noctis lets the flicker of hope grow in his chest. Like the fireflies lighting the dark of the night, he lets it grow in the faith they’ll finding their way.

They stay outside a little longer, digging their toes in the soft dirt and watching the reflection of the fireflies along the river, but when Prompto yawns for the third time Noctis leads them back to the tent to lie down.

In the low light he traces his gaze along the smooth line of Prompto’s shoulder where it’s drawn inward to shelter his tender side. With an unsteady hand, Noctis reaches out and gently rests it against where the aracne had slashed into his skin.

Prompto’s eyes meet his, half-lidded with sleep, melting at the touch and nestling into the protective curve of Noctis’ body. He sighs, a brush of air ghosting along Noctis’ collarbone, and Noctis pulls him closer. Before he fades away, he makes a silent vow and presses it Prompto’s downy hair with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started typing out this silly idea of mine I never would have guessed the response this story would stir. Thank you all for the kudos, reviews, bookmarks, etc. I treasure them more than you'll ever know <3 and I'd love to hear your thoughts so far down below!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thenameisfame)


	13. If Life is Pain, I've Buried Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Late morning sunlight glitters off the river, shimmering hues catching in the rising mist from the waterfall. It’s nearly laughable to imagine such beauty as the entrance to a cave of horrors, but isn’t that the way with all secrets?_
> 
> They travel back to Lestallum to reconvene, an unexpected visitor rejoins the party with a suspiciously convenient offer, and Prompto continues to struggle with balancing duty and desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2019!!! This chapter is LONG overdue and I apologize! Now that I'm home and on a more open schedule things should level out in terms of regularity. I hope your year has been going well so far! Also over the break we hit 1k kudos??? THANK YOU! Seriously, every single one of those has been keeping me going, along with your comments, I absolutely live for them and I'm so happy you're enjoying this story ;; There's so much to come!
> 
> Big thank you to pigeon-princess for all the effort and time she's put in to helping me. She is a literal gem I want to give the world to. Thanks also to Juli for being my beta - I know life is one hell of a ride, but I'm glad I get to share it with you - and to Tera for being this story's number one fan and also an all around amazing friend.
> 
> Chapter title is from Paralyzed by NF, which you can check out on the [playlist.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIKKKGTVk_fw0Fwou7s_6UiZNI2Dx3qYT)
> 
> Enjoy~

Prompto wakes with a gasp, the force of it sending his ribs into an aching fit. He groans and stares up at the tent canvas with a foggy mind, trying to catch his breath. Outside, the river babbles nearby joined by low voices in conversation. Inside, he’s alone.

The others must be waiting for him to get up, but he can’t bring himself to move an inch from the bedding piled around him. His side throbs woeful and he squeezes his eyes tight as yesterday floods back.

Daemons. Here in Lucis.

He’s never seen one up so close; never seen one _in person._

It’s no secret to him what goes on in Zegnautus Keep - the experiments, the mysteries hidden deep within the bowels of the floating fortress - and his surprise makes him a fool. Prompto buries the weary acceptance deep in his chest where it sprouts from a bed of shock.

A ghost of the aracne’s nails rakes across his skin and he shivers, pulling the blanket to his chin. His base instincts had kicked in, hollow disinterest trapped in his mind as they fought. It had been second nature to reach out - to siphon the magic rushing through his chest and down his arm, funneled into his gun as he aimed high above. The light had seared the backs of his eyelids, driving the daemon to confused rage, and he’d been too slow. Too slow; not enough. 

Twisting his fingers in the blanket, he grips tight until the sand burning between his ribs trickles away. He reaches deep inside - part out of curiosity, part dread - but the thread of magic from before is out of reach.

The rest of the labyrinth was a messy blur of clockwork fighting and pain. The shattering, blue magic of the royal sword ring in the air to strike Noctis’ chest sears behind his eyes. It’s unlike anything he’s seen before, and although Noctis had been unharmed, the image of him pierced through squeezes Prompto’s throat shut. He shakes his head to clear the thought, and presses a tentative hand to his side.

What he’d brushed off as a superficial injury had steadily grown hot beneath his shirt, sweat slicking his neck despite the ice. Being the weak link is not an option - he’d made an unspoken promise the day Noctis gave him his gun - and yet here he is, lying uselessly in bed.

Soft touches ghost along his skin - Gladio’s cautious hands as he pulled his shirt away, Ignis’ steady hands with each pass of bandage, Noctis reaching out to take his hand in the light of a thousand fireflies and how easily Prompto folded into his arms.

Rolling slowly onto his good side, Prompto freezes when his gaze catches on blob of yellow propped up on the pillow beside his. His eyes cross as he stares into the unblinking gaze of a small chocobo plushie. In disbelief, he reaches out to stroke down the soft fabric of its plumage and when he picks it up it sits perfectly in his palm. It’s the same one he’d been admiring at the market. Who could have…?

His mind flashes to Lestallum - to the rows of vendors and their tents pitched in the simmering heat, the stall showcasing items based in soft yellow and Noctis’ amused smile.

Red blooms across his cheeks in time with block of guilt deep in his stomach. His chest sits empty, a hollow cage between them. If the piece he’d given Gladio stung like scraped knees, the chunk he’d broken off for Noctis was a broken bone, and still it isn’t enough. They’ve shown him nothing but kindness - humoring his weaknesses, aiding when he falters, and offering space to air the secrets cramped under his skin if he so chooses - and here he is taking it and repaying it with half truths. The tentative trust thickens the guilt clogging his gut.

He breathes in around it, clenching the plushie in hand as he forces himself upright to take stock. The feverish ache is gone, cured instantly by the antidote the night before. The magic of Lucis is so much more than he ever imagined to afford such an instant relief. Aside from a mouth full of cotton, muscles sore with strain, and the persistent twinge in his side, nothing serious is in need of attention. He collects his strength and sets about getting dressed.

The tent flap opens as he’s pulling on his shirt and he freezes, arms and head tangled. The air at his back unsticks him and shoves the fabric down with such ferocity that he hisses in pain.

“Easy now,” says Ignis. “It wouldn’t do to aggravate it further.” His eyes are carefully masked when Prompto faces him and he holds up the roll of gauze in his hands. “If it’s permissible, I’d like to check on it once more before we head for Lestallum.”

Prompto grits his teeth and half raises his arms in permission. He holds still as Ignis works, quick and perfunctory as he unwraps the wound.

“It’s a great deal better than last night.” He peels away the dirty gauze, wiping the last of the green muck away from Prompto’s skin, and when it’s cleaned to his satisfaction he wraps his chest once more. His voice is steady and low when he breaks the silence. “You gave us quite a scare.”

The guilt twists hard. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” says Ignis as he secures the end. Prompto tugs his shirt down as soon as his hands are free and meets Ignis’ searching gaze. “We care about your wellbeing, Prompto.”

He says it like a fact, with no room for uncertainty, and Prompto can’t decide if Ignis means it personally or if it’s because he’s a prince - a liability. He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

With no further preamble, Ignis collects their things and steps outside, Prompto hesitating before crawling out behind him. To his surprise the camp has been cleared, kitchenette packed and gear stowed away, save for a couple camping chairs. He definitely overslept. 

When Noctis spots them he jumps to his feet, a plate clutched firmly in his hands. His cheeks have the barest tinge to them and Prompto’s throat dries up as they stare. Behind him, Ignis clears his throat absently and busies with packing the abandoned sleeping bags into neat rolls.

“Feeling better?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah,” Prompto says, reflexively. He scrambles to solidify it, lips twitching into a semblance of a smile as he holds up the chocobo plush. “All thanks to you.”

Noctis’ grins and gestures to the vacated chair, Prompto following his direction. “Here,” he says, passing over the plate. “Gotta build up your strength.”

Late morning sunlight glitters off the river, shimmering hues catching in the rising mist from the waterfall. It’s nearly laughable to imagine such beauty as the entrance to a cave of horrors, but isn’t that the way with all secrets? Prompto chews his breakfast thoughtfully, listening to the birdsong overhead, and he’s clearing his plate of lingering syrup when Gladio returns.

“Glad to see you’re up and about,” he says, setting a passing hand on Prompto’s shoulder.

He freezes, finger halfway through the path he’d been wiping clean. There’s nothing unfriendly in Gladio’s tone or touch, but when Prompto’s sure they’re all distracted he rubs a nervous hand over his clasped bracelet to make sure it’s secure.

The tent’s disassembled next, all the bit and pieces packed properly under Gladio’s watchful eye - “ _Noctis if you break that pole, you’re sleeping under the collapsed side for eternity_ ” - and Prompto’s plate is cleaned and sequestered away. He’s ushered to the car, ribs smarting all the way up the stairs. Ignis sticks close to him, providing a steady hand at his back when he falters, and opens the door for him to climb in. Prompto doesn’t realize how tired he is until he sinks into the leather seat and knows nothing else.

His dreams leave him in peace, mind blissfully blank when he’s shaken awake. Gladio leans over him through the open door with a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. The sun behind him catches the tips of his hair on fire.

“Time to go,” he says. “Do you need help?”

“No.” Prompto rubs his eyes and spots Noctis over his shoulder, standing at the back alley closest to the Leville. 

A faint breeze dampens the oppressive heat, and Prompto never thought he’d miss it so much compared to the ice caverns beneath the mountain. Despite his answer, Gladio helps him from the car with a steadying hand when his sleep-clumsy limbs stumble. 

“We’ll see you at the hotel,” he says to Ignis as he pulls away to park and keeps close to Prompto as they retreat through the winding streets.

It’s quieter than he expected, streets still decorated in streamers as people bustle about their business, but the crowd is nothing compared to the throes of celebration. No one stares for long, eyes sleepy as they recover from late nights full of flowing drinks.

When they step into the lobby, Iris is waiting for them. She grins, darting forward with a greeting on her lips, but when Prompto swipes at his damp brow and winces at the pull on his side she frowns. 

“What happened?”

With a glance around the lobby, Gladio shakes his head. “Room first.”

They make for the stairs and Prompto’s strength falters, legs refusing to move as he lists to the side, and embarrassment stings in his chest when both Noctis and Iris reach out to steady him. He’s stuck, grounded for his incompetence, and panic simmers beneath his weary bones at his own uselessness.

“All right,” says Iris, looping his good arm around her neck and Noctis lets go reluctantly. “Let’s go.” She shoulders his weight with no fanfare, guiding him up the curling stairs with ease despite the full-bodied exhaustion in his bones.

Gladio fumbles open the door with the keycard and she slips them inside, beelining to lower Prompto into the soft cushions of the plush armchair in the corner. When he’s settled, she faces the others, hands on her hips. “Start talking.”

They’ve fully regaled the details of their adventure by the time Ignis joins them, a plastic bag full of rattling bottles in hand. Stunned silence falls over the room as he sets them on the table in front of Noctis who cradles each of the curatives with a flash of magic.

“I thought… they were a myth,” says Iris, searching Gladio’s gaze for the truth. The answer ages her, a burden shouldered by a carefree girl with life’s possibilities only just in bloom before her.

“No,” says Noctis, and clears his throat when his voice falters. “They’re real. I had the unfortunate honor of meeting one years ago.” He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably before picking up another potion.

A missing piece slots into place - when they’d met all those years ago Noctis was visiting Tenebrae to heal. On good days he’d smile sweetly for pictures, laugh openly at their puns, and the touch of darkness would slip away from him - until the bad days when he was too tired to indulge them, sullen and withdrawn as those exposed to a pain too heavy and persistent - too early, too young - tend to be. 

Traces of it linger in the shadows of his face as he imbues another curative and Iris drops her arms. “It wasn’t only a car accident, was it?”

“No.” Ignis places a hand on the back of Noctis’ neck. “It was thought best not to frighten the public into panic over an off chance encounter… but now…”

“It’s getting worse,” Gladio says, “and what with the longer nights.”

Prompto’s stomach drops to the floor. If the sun disappears - their final defense against creatures of the night - they’re screwed. Flashes of the arachne flit through his mind; the gelatinous blobs crackling with magic and the hovering figure with tentacles like some horror dragged up from the deep. He squeezes his damp eyes shut against the memories of black sludge and burning veins, endless metal tools and halls, and the debt looming over his head - steadily counting down.

The line of Iris’ lips pinches. “I’ll let the ladies down at the power plant know so they can plan accordingly.”

“Of course,” says Ignis. “I’ll be sure to place a call to the capital as well. Hopefully it’s no news to them, but it won’t hurt to make certain they aware of exactly what we’re dealing with.” Withdrawing his hand, he picks up a curative and crosses over to Prompto.

This time he takes it gratefully, relishing in how the tension saps from his body as Ignis unwraps his chest to check everything has healed properly. He’d misstepped in letting them find out he was injured and if any of his own handlers had been in their place, they would have been far less accommodating. As far as he knows, the Empire hasn’t mastered accelerated healing like Lucis, but that wasn’t saying much. If they have, Prompto would be far from the first to know.

When Ignis finishes, Prompto melts into the armchair His eyes droop as the others unroll the map, Gladio leaning over it with both palms pressed to the table.

“So,” says Iris, peering over his shoulder. “What’s next?”

“I guess we make our way down to Cape Caem. Unless you’ve got any more urban legends hanging around?”

“Nope. Sorry, but first you’ll rest up here before you go anywhere.” 

It’s not a question, but no one argues. 

They take turns with the shower, and when Ignis finishes he asks Iris to borrow the kitchen of their suite. Prompto takes his place and the heat comforts his sore muscles as he scrubs the blood, dirt, and questionable daemon ichor off his skin and from under his nails. His mind stays blessedly quiet, the cadence of the shower reminiscent of the waterfall.

Noctis swaps in when he’s finished, pipes squealing to accommodate the hot water, and Prompto falls into the nearest bed. Somewhere in the corner Gladio reads his book, sounds of children playing a game in the courtyard filtering through the cracked balcony doors. There’s an uncomfortable underneath Prompto’s side and he digs the chocobo from his pocket to hold as his consciousness slip away.

He dreams of never-ending fields of green, long-stemmed flowers, and a hand warm in his.

When he wakes, a blanket’s pulled up high over his shoulders and the afternoon sun slants sideways through the windows. Dust motes swirl and catch the light, settling as Prompto blinks the sleep from his sticky eyes. The room is quiet, save for an intermittent slap of cards and hushed cursing, but it’s the mouthwatering _scent_ that convinces him to rouse.

It catches Noctis’ attention first from where he’s bent agitated over his hand and Prompto pushes the plush into his pocket, returning his hesitant smile. He stretches, back popping, and rolls his neck. “What smells so good?”

“That would be the pastries,” says Ignis, laying his cards face down. “I’ll wager they’ve cooled enough to eat.”

With a groan, Noctis throws his cards on the table. “ _Finally._ ”

“You’re just happy we stopped because you were losing,” says Gladio.

Noctis grins. “You have no proof.”

Laughing, Gladio collects their cards to pack away and Prompto takes the empty chair, their banter soothing the last ruffled edges of sleep away. His mouth waters when Ignis brings over a platter stacked with round pastries dusted with powdered sugar.

“Here we are,” he says, and before the plate hits the table Noctis snags one off the top.

“Thanks Iggy.”

Prompto follows suit, offering his thanks and biting into the flaky treat. It’s sweet and gooey in the center and he frowns at the familiarity. There’s something familiar about it, not quite in reach, so he takes another bite and it clicks.

_The fog has all but burned off for once, sunlight dappling through the trees, and Prompto snaps a picture of the shadows they cast on the gingham blanket. Beneath it the ground is cold from leftover early morning dew, scent sharp and earthy in his nose._

_“My mom packed these for us to share,” Lunafreya says, passing out the sweets._

_Noctis makes an excited noise around his bite, staring in awe at the pastry before digging in earnestly until there’s nothing left. His mouth is covered in crumbs when he smiles in a rare bout of pure delight, so brilliant Prompto’s sure he’ll go blind. Instead, he raises his camera and takes a picture._

“Hmm,” says the Noctis of the present. There are crumbs around his mouth. “Closer, but still not right. It’s a little too sweet.”

Pulling a notebook from his jacket, Ignis scratches his pencil across the page. Prompto subtly wipes his eyes and takes another bite.

“Well, they’re pretty perfect to me,” says Gladio.

“I didn’t say they weren’t good. I love Specs’ cooking.” Noctis smacks Gladio’s shoulder, then grimaces. “Well, most of it anyway.”

“I’ll attribute that to the vegetables and not as a comment on my skills, shall I?” says Ignis with a small smile.

Across the table, Noctis grins at him before catching Prompto’s gaze. “Do you remember them?”

Prompto swallows his large bite. “Ignis, these are amazing,” he says, reverently. “It felt like I was back in Tenebrae.”

Pausing in his notes, Ignis glances up at him with a faint tinge to his cheeks. “Thank you, I’m glad they’re to your taste.”

It’s strange how flustered he gets over a simple compliment, Ignis hastily diverting their attention back to their game of cards. Gladio deals them anew, including Prompto in the mix as he runs through the rules. It’s different than the ones Biggs and Wedge taught him and he focuses on keeping his hand hidden well as he observes. 

Six rounds deep and he learns he has a terrible poker face, to his amusement. They finish up a final round before the set about packing, eating a late lunch as they work. Ignis hands Prompto a folded shirt - the one the aracne tore, freshly washed and sewn.

“It’s not as seamless as it was before,” he says, pushing at the bridge of his glasses, “but I hope it will do.”

Prompto smiles and touches his elbow gently. “Thank you, Ignis.”

“No bother.” Clearing his throat, Ignis straightens and steps away. “It’s the least I can do.”

It’s the last thing to go in, settled protectively atop the glossy magazine from the festival he and Noctis has won. Prompto scans the bathroom one last time for any forgotten toiletries and slings his camera strap around his neck, patting his pockets to double check that the chocobo plush is safe.

“Ready?” Noctis asks. The red fish keychain he’d won dangles from the zipper of his bag, disappearing in a flash as he stores it in the armiger.

Gladio claps his shoulder and steers him towards the door. “Let’s get moving.”

There’s a small group waiting for them in the lobby and Talcott races up to Noctis when they arrive, bouncing on his toes despite Jared chastising his eagerness. “It was real! The sword was real!”

“Sure was,” says Noctis, and drops a hand to ruffle Talcott’s hair. “We’re so lucky to have such top notch intel.”

Talcott laughs, preening under the praise. He begs for details of their adventures and Noctis relays a heavily edited version, excluding any mention of their sinister encounters. A fond smile tugs at Prompto’s lips, disappearing when someones tugs at his hand. It’s Iris, expression open and relaxed as she tugs him further from the group. 

“It was so nice to meet you Prompto,” she says. “Take care of Noctis for me, I wish you all the best for the future.” She squeezes his palm in both of hers and he holds her gaze.

“I will,” he says, quietly. _Best I can_.

Hugs and well wishes are passed around and Jared has to pry Talcott away when they go, their final farewells echoing as they retreat through the courtyard. The heat shimmers off the cobblestones and Prompto stretches his arms up towards the sun, groaning in approval as the ice in his veins melts away. 

“Would it be okay if I took a picture before we left?” he asks when they reach the outlook, tilting his camera towards the railing.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be too serious a detour,” says Ignis and Prompto grins, pivoting for the stairs to the lower level.

The air is fresh and clean on his tongue, the whole of Duscae sprawled out beneath an impossible sky, indifferent to the change of life around it. It’s strange how long the land has remained - through weather and war, adapting and standing strong in the face of the trivial matters of humans. Prompto wonders if the gods of old still exist, watching them struggle and trip over their insignificant desires.

A few people are scattered around, tourists posing for pictures and musicians playing cheerful tunes for a small crowd down the way, and Prompto makes his way towards the edge. Someone is peering through one of the telescope machines pointed towards the meteor and as they straighten up, he pulls up short.

“What’s up?” asks Noctis, nearly crashing into him.

Mouth full of sand, Prompto’s jaw locks as the man faces them.

“What a coincidence,” Ardyn drawls. He hasn’t changed the slightest since Insomnia, swathed in heavy layers despite the sweltering heat and auburn hair in a ruffled cloud about his head. The sun glints off it in a fractured halo.

Noctis’ spine snaps sharp and Prompto catches his concerned glance from the corner of his eye as Ignis and Gladio fall in step behind them. Maybe it has to do with how easy it has become to fall into the routine of their trip - into his own privacy and untethered existence - but his surprise stings twice as sharp. Ardyn never leaves him alone for long.

“Chancellor,” says Ignis, stepping slightly before them. “We weren’t expecting your company so early in the tour.”

“I often find fate dictates differently than what we come to expect,” says Ardyn, lip curling. “And besides, someone must keep an eye on our dear Prince Prompto, from time to time.”

Ice freezes Prompto stiff, as if the sun above is a weak illusion and he’s still trapped deep beneath the mountain. His back aches, a helpless statue in the scene unfolding before him.

“Let us skip the formalities, shall we?” Ardyn tilts his head as he assesses them. “I hear you’re in the market for royal arms.”

Noctis takes an aborted half-step away. “Oh? And who told you that?”

“Let’s say a little birdie told me. The point is, I may or may not happen to know something of interest.”

Gladio scoffs, cut short by a sharp elbow to the side, courtesy Ignis in a mimicry of that first day in the throne room. “Either you do or you don’t, so spit it out.”

It’s tactless, but Ardyn remains unruffled. He cares little for anyone’s opinion of him and instead relishes in the reactions he pulls, the weaknesses they expose in spots to push and prod and manipulate. When their eyes meet, Prompto manages to hold his gaze before the weight of it is too heavy and he ducks his head.

“It just so happens there’s one near by.” Ardyn tilts his head towards the overlook behind him. “I can take you.”

Ignis’ tracks the gesture. “The meteor.”

“The Archaean’s parting gift.”

“Oh?” asks Gladio. “Why the sudden want to help?”

Ardyn saunters through the group. “I am merely a vessel of information, is it so wrong to help direct the future leaders of our kingdoms? And with such _pressing_ circumstances of late.”

The air draws thin between them, and it’s a wonder Prompto’s ragged breaths don’t shatter when they fall from his lips.

“Perhaps a moment to discuss this… generous offer,” says Ignis.

Ardyn offers an open palm with the grin of someone who knows their winning hand. “By all means.”

The others step away for the illusion of privacy and Prompto hangs back, unsure if he’s included until Noctis glances around for him. As soon as they’ve sequestered themselves a reasonable distance away, Gladio cuts in, eyes staring deep into his. “Can we trust him?”

A double edged sword. Prompto swallows thickly - he has to play his cards right.

“I don’t know if ‘trust’ is the right word,” he says. “Ardyn often operates outside of the empire to his own means. If he has ulterior motives with this, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Ignis presses a finger to his lower lip. “I can’t surmise what he would have to gain from putting us in harm’s way. Even if he has ulterior motives it may be worth checking out and we haven’t heard from Cid about repairs to the boat either.”

“At this point, anything helps. I want to be as prepared as possible,” says Noctis, sounding every bit of the king he’s growing to be. “We go in and watch our backs. If there’s any sign of trouble we go our separate ways.”

“I don’t like this,” says Gladio, but relents.

Noctis leads the way back to Ardyn, crossing his arms casually. “Chancellor, we accept your offer.”

“Splendid! I am not one to stand on ceremony, so please, call me Ardyn,” he says and sets off towards the parking lot. “My automobile is right over there. We can travel in an envoy of sorts.”

The glue sticking to the bottom of Prompto’s feet relents and he follows along with the others as Ardyn saunters up to a dated model polished to a shine. “It’s nothing compared to your Regalia, but she serves me well. Shall we balance our party for the long drive?” he asks, pretending to ponder before he points. “You three in yours and Prince Prompto-” Their eyes lock and Ardyn smiles. “-in mine.”

Prompto schools his features under the others’ gazes, shoving the bubbled panic so far down it disappears in a sea of resigned calm. His veins are still frozen, shards dislodging as he steps forward, but Noctis’ arm stops him short.

“Our car hasn’t had any trouble holding all of us this far. We’ll follow you.”

“You would deny me the need to check in on my ward?” Ardyn’s tone is casual as ever, but his eyes shimmer with a hard edge. The bar of Noctis’ arm lies a fine line between salvation and damnation.

Ignis sets a hand on his shoulder. “Noctis.”

“Fine,” says Noctis, though it sounds like anything but. “We’ll follow.” He stalks off towards the Regalia, Ignis hot on his heels, and Gladio shoots a last searching glance over his shoulder before he follows.

The click of the car door pulls him from his thoughts, Ardyn bowing slightly as he gestures to the open door. “Shall we, Your Highness?”

Head held high, Prompto ducks into the car and doesn’t flinch when Ardyn closes it behind him with a decisive thud.

The leather creaks as he buckles his seat belt and Prompto digs his fingers into his thighs, craving the familiarity of the Regalia. The car engine starting up beneath the twist of the keys is different, lacking Ignis’ routine mirror checks and Gladio’s ribbing. Noctis’ terrible pop music isn’t blaring over them and even the smell is different with decidedly much less hair gel. Prompto never thought he’d miss it.

“Finally, some privacy,” says Ardyn, and he turns them into the tunnel leading out of Lestallum. “Tell me, are you faring well?”

“Yes,” he says. “Everything’s been going well so far.”

“I would certainly expect so, after all it took to get you here.” It’s an offhand dagger, cutting through Prompto’s carefully constructed front like butter. “Fortunately, things are progressing as planned. It won’t be much longer.”

Prompto meets Ardyn’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “I won’t let you down.”

Ardyn’s lips tilt in a satisfied smile and he skims his fingers along the back of Prompto’s hand. They come up to a fork in the road and he pulls away to twist the steering wheel. “I hope the Lucian prince hasn’t been too bothersome in his advances,” he says. “It can’t be easy, enduring as the spare wheel all this time.”

“No, he hasn’t. I’ve been comfortable enough on our travels.” The numbness hasn’t left, Prompto’s mind strangely blank as his next breath rattles about his hollow rib cage.

With an dissatisfied hum, Ardyn glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Be that as it may, they have no idea what you are. Remember what happened the last time.”

It’s the final strike, Prompto’s fingers trembling against his legs before easing. He stares out the window, pretending he’s in the Regalia, and Ardyn leaves him be.

The awe-inspiring rock arches and lush green fields don’t distract him from how strung out he feels - the way Noct’s fishing line gets when he’s hooked a big catch that puts up a fight - taught and slowly fraying. He grounds himself, counting down through a list of his sense until he’s pulled from the brink. This is nothing, he thinks, he can do it. He’s held on this far, but the thought of placating Ardyn while maintaining a sense of normalcy in front of the others is a daunting balancing act.

When Ardyn pulls off the side of the road, the sun has set behind the horizon, painting the sky in a soft purple and yellowed clouds. In the distance, the shards around the meteor refract the light in a glittering array. “Is this part of the plan too?”

“I’m merely ushering it forward. If we left it in the hands of the Lucians, we’d never get to where we need to be.” Ardyn steps from the car and shuts the door, Prompto scrambling to follow. He circles around to face him as the others pull into the lot, aware their time is limited.

“Aren’t you worried at all?” he asks. “What if they find something you aren’t accounting for?”

Ardyn’s eyes flicker over Prompto’s shoulder before he leans close, hand coming up to stroke along his cheek. “Then I suppose my _little bird_ will tell me so.”

With a final tap to his cheek, he steps past him and Prompto pivots on his heel with another question on his tongue, but it sticks to his throat as Ardyn brushes past Gladio. Their eyes meet, Gladio’s mouth thinned to a flat line, and Prompto’s stomach drops.

“A little soon for a pit stop,” says Ignis.

“What say we call it a day here?”

“‘What say’ we continue on to Cauthess,” Gladio snaps.

“The tomb isn’t going anywhere,” says Ardyn, “and I’d be more inclined to arrive in one piece. Danger at night is on the rise, haven’t you heard?”

Prompto shifts uneasily. If he never saw another daemon again, it’d be too soon.

“So, we make camp,” says Noctis.

“I’m afraid I’m not one for the outdoors, but I’ll gladly foot the bill for the caravan,” says Ardyn, and saunters over to do just that.

When the others look to him, Prompto stares helplessly. Ignis sighs and says, “I suppose we’d better settle in for the evening.”

* * *

It’s easier said than done.

A strained tension weighs on them as they move to the porch area outside the camper. Gladio lounges in his seat as Ignis pours over a collection of maps and notes spread over the folding table to accommodate for their change of plans. Noctis sits next to Prompto, chatting idly about what he missed on the drive and a wave of appreciation washes over him. Instead of joining them, Ardyn wanders off and Prompto doesn’t miss the eyes full of unrestrained skepticism following him. 

His unexpected appearance alone has knocked Prompto several steps back from the others, redrawing the line in the sand between them. Gladio’s hardered wariness returns like it never left as Ignis withdraws more with each passing hour. It’s only now, facing his shuttered expressions, Prompto realizes how much he’d opened up over the course of their journey.

“Gladio,” he says, “can I borrow your phone?”

“What for?”

“I wanna show Prom King’s Knight.”

With a roll of his eyes, Gladio dutifully passes over the phone. “Don’t go snooping around.”

“I won’t, I won’t”

“King’s Knight?” Prompto asks, testing the words in his mouth.

“Yeah! That cool mobile game? I’ve been dying to log on and crack a few levels.” Noctis scrolls through Gladio’s screen, but when Prompto shakes his head in confusion, his smile drops into mild horror. “Video games?”

“I - I don’t -”

“Not everyone has the time to waste on virtual worlds when the real one demands so much of them already,” says Ignis, not bothering to glance up from his scribbled calendar.

“He says, as if he doesn’t have the highest level of all of us,” Noctis grumbles.

Prompto catches the grin Ignis hides behind his paperwork and he smothers a giggle, warmth stirring in his chest. It wavers with nerves as Noctis pulls his chair closer and leans into his space to pass over the phone.

“Okay, so,” he says, once the game has loaded. A little character is on screen, facing opposite a looming monster. “This is the tutorial. Here’s how you fight and this is how you dodge. See?” He demonstrates the movements, character following through on its commands. “You try.”

Prompto gives it his best shot and discovers he’s not terrible, but he feels a little out of his league when he catches sight of Noctis’ character level. Despite the difference, Noctis continues to be patient, dishing out pointers and praise until they work through a quest together with ease.

“There, now you’re getting it!” Noctis smiles so brilliantly that Prompto flubs his next attack, scrambling to recover.

Ignis drops his pen with a clatter, rubbing beneath his glasses as he retreats inside to whip up a quick meal in the condensed kitchen. Ardyn doesn’t return until well after they’re finished eating, unnervingly silent as the others talk idly to fill the time, skirting the more important topics in the presence of unwanted company. Despite the familiar chatter, Ardyn’s close meandering balances Prompto endlessly on edge - every casual brush of skin a brand.

“Tell me,” says Ignis, “is it difficult to travel with you personage as Chancellor?”

“Not particularly. I find most citizens to be thoroughly unconcerned with the appearance of a foreign dignitary. It’d present a unique challenge otherwise.”

Gladio laughs, sounding forced around the edges. “Reminds me of that waitress who spotted Noct right away. Boy was she surprised.”

“Ha ha,” says Noctis. A peculiar shadow passes over his face and he catches Prompto’s eye. “Back in Lucis… you said you didn’t know who I was when we met in Tenebrae?”

“Ah, no,” says Prompto, aware of Ardyn lingering over his shoulder. “I figured it out a few years later.”

Noctis jerks forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “Where did -” He cuts off, glancing over Prompto’s shoulder as a confliction breezes across his face. “Where did you go when you disappeared?”

It stings more than Prompto’s willing to admit, and not for the first time he wishes he’d had a normal childhood. His memories are growing distant and worn - the soft caress of his mother’s hand and the scent of his father’s aftershave. He remembers the day they sent him away. For his own safety, they’d said, if only for a little longer.

“So many secrets,” Ardyn chides, and Prompto startles when he leans into his space, fingertips grazing beneath his chin. “Our dear prince is not a royal by birth I’m afraid.” He pulls away, as if he hasn’t dropped a bomb with an infuriating air of disinterest.

“You’re adopted?” Gladio chokes on the word and Prompto winces.

“A mild way of putting it,” says Ardyn. “Prompto is a very _special_ case. He was inducted into the royal line as per my suggestion.”

Special. Right. 

The silver bangle on Prompto’s wrist burns. He knows just how _special_ he is.

Everyone stares at him with thinly veiled shock, so he shrugs and offers them a wavering smile. Ardyn’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “That’s enough excitement for tonight, I suggest you all rest. Tomorrow promises more to come.”

They all mumble their agreement at the clear dismissal, stretching their limbs as they stand. Ignis pauses in gathering his papers. “Aren’t you coming Chancellor?”

“I have some business to attend to first,” he says, and strides away.

The ballooning weight inside of Prompto’s chest deflates as Ardyn disappears around the corner of the gas station. The damage he leaves behind is done, but there’s a certain relief in it being over.

“Six, is that guy ever cryptic,” says Gladio and he shuts the caravan door behind them. It’s not as cramped as Prompto imagined, but it’s not roomy either with all of them inside. 

A cricket sings outside the square window above the sink, words swelling at the back of Prompto’s throat. “I didn’t want to leave,” he blurts, focusing on Noctis. “Not without saying goodbye, but I - I didn’t have a choice.”

It’s a sloppy apology, all half-filled blanks in answer, but he needs Noctis to know he didn’t abandon him willingly - needs them all to understand. His fingers shake, so he hides them in his fists. A hand reaches out to take one, soothing it open, and Noctis stares searchingly in his eyes.

When Prompto doesn’t offer any more, he says, “C’mon,” and tugs him towards the back. “Let’s go play a few more rounds of King’s Knight before we sleep.” His hand is a tether, keeping Prompto afloat despite the storm ravaging about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! Thank you so much for reading <33
> 
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